e, John?" asked Mr. Wharton.

"A sudden fever."

"I wish I could have seen him before he died. But I returned only to
find both son and grandson gone. I had only the sad satisfaction of
seeing his grave."

"Yes, he was buried in the family lot at Greenwood, five days before you
reached home."

"When I see men of my own age, surrounded by children and grandchildren,
it makes me almost envious," said Mr. Wharton, sadly. "I declare to
you, John, since that boy has been with me, I have felt happier and more
cheerful than for years."

"That boy again!" muttered John to himself. "I begin to hate the young
cub, but I mustn't show it. My first work will be to separate him from
my uncle. That will require consideration. I wonder whether the boy
knows that he is not Fowler's son? I must find out. If he does, and
should happen to mention it in my uncle's presence, it might awaken
suspicions in his mind. I must interview the boy, and find out what I
can. To enlist his confidence, I must assume a friendly manner."

In furtherance of this determination, John Wade greeted our hero very
cordially the next evening, when they met, a little to Frank's surprise.

When the reading terminated, John Wade said, carelessly:

"I believe, uncle, I will go out for a walk. I think I shall be better
for it. In what direction are you going, Frank?"

"Down Sixth Avenue, sir."

"Very good; I will walk along with you."

Frank and his companion walked toward Sixth Avenue.

"My uncle tells me you have a sister to support," said Wade, opening the
conversation.

"Yes, sir."

"Does your sister resemble you?" asked John Wade.

"No, sir! but that is not surprising, for----"

"Why is it not surprising?"

Frank hesitated.

"You were about to assign some reason."

"It is a secret," said our hero, slowly; "that is, has been a secret,
but I don't know why I should conceal it. Grace is not my sister. She
is Mrs. Fowler's daughter, but I am not her son. I will tell you the
story."

That story Frank told as briefly as possible. John Wade listened to it
with secret alarm.

"It is a strange story," he said. "Do you not feel a strong desire to
learn your true parentage?"

"Yes, sir. I don't know, but I feel as if I should some day meet the man
who gave me into Mrs. Fowler's charge."

"You have met him, but it is lucky you don't suspect it," thought John
Wade.

"I am glad you told me this story," said he, aloud.

"It is quite romantic. I