terised all his dealings with others, excluded him from the
friendship and companionship of his kind.

Tall and slightly made, with a proud and gentlemanly carriage, he looked
well though dressed in the most homely and unfashionable garb. Beyond
scrupulous cleanliness he paid little attention to the mysteries of the
toilet, for even in the bloom of youth, "Gallio cared for none of those
things." In spite of the disadvantages of dress, his bright brown
complexion, straight features, dark glancing eyes, and rich curling
hair, gave him a striking appearance. By many he was considered
eminently handsome; to those accustomed to read the mind in the face,
Mark Hurdlestone's countenance was everything but prepossessing.

The sunshine of a smiling heart never illumined the dark depth of those
deep-seated cunning eyes; and those of his own kin, who most wished to
entertain a favorable opinion of the young heir of Oak Hall, agreed in
pronouncing him a very disagreeable selfish young man.

He hated society, was shy and reserved in his manners, and never spoke
on any subject without his opinion was solicited. This extraordinary
taciturnity, in one who possessed no ordinary powers of mind, gave
double weight to all that he advanced, till what he said became a law in
the family. Even his mother, with whom he was no favorite, listened with
profound attention to his shrewd biting remarks. From his father, Mark
early imbibed a love of hoarding; and his favorite studies, those in
which he most excelled, and which appeared almost intuitive to him, were
those connected with figures. The old Squire, who idolised his handsome
sullen boy, was never weary of boasting of his abilities, and his great
knowledge in mathematics and algebra.

"Aye," he would exclaim, "that lad was born to make a fortune; not
merely to keep one ready made. 'Tis a thousand pities that he is not a
poor man's son; I would bet half my estate, that if he lives to my age
he will be the richest man in England."

Having settled this matter in his own way, the old Squire took much
pains to impress upon the boy's mind that _poverty_ was the most
dreadful of all evils--that, if he wished to stand well with the world,
riches alone could effect that object, and ensure the respect and homage
of his fellow-men. "Wealth," he was wont jocosely to say, "would do all
but carry him to heaven,"--and how the journey thither was to be
accomplished, never disturbed the thoughts of the r