it was ever to restore you
to your lawful rights, and he charged me to regard you as a dear brother,
and share with you all the benefits of the estate, the whole of which
would eventually have been yours had not your father's own rash act
deprived you of the succession, and forever put it out of our power to
restore you to it. I accepted the trust, and should have discharged it
had you not left the country."

"Well, I suppose the old man did as well as he could under the
circumstances. He too was to be pitied. But now tell me, did _you_
help to hark the bloodhounds of the law on my track?"

"No. From the time I received a hint from that wretched man, Potts, the
valet, implicating yourself, I refrained from all action in your
pursuit."

"I thought so--I thought so. You wouldn't like to help hang your own
brother, even if he had deserved it; but he did not quite deserve it; and
it was to explain that, as well as some other things, that I brought you
here. You know so much already, however, so much more than I suspected
you knew, that I shall not have a great deal to tell you; but--my
strength is going fast again. I shall have to be quick. Give me another
glass of brandy."

The duke complied with the man's request, and then replaced the glass
again and returned to the bedside.

"I suppose I should not require that stimulant so often to keep up my
dying frame, if I had not been so hard a drinker in late years. However,
it is absolutely necessary to me now, if I am to go on. Come close; I
cannot raise my voice any longer," whispered the fast-failing man.

The duke drew his chair as closely as possible to the side of the cot,
took the wasted hand of his poor brother, and bowed his head to hear the
sorrowful story.

In a weak, low voice, with many pauses, John Scott told the story of
his life, from his own point of view, dwelling much on his mother's
undeserved sorrows and early death.

He told of his own secluded life and education, and of his ignorance of
his father's name until after his mother's decease.

He confessed the rage and hatred that filled his bosom on first learning
that poor mother's wrongs, greater even than his own.

He spoke of the natural mistake made by the country people at Lone, who
misled by his perfect likeness to his brother, had received him and
honored him as Marquis of Arondelle.

He admitted that their error flattered his self-love, and believing
that he had the best right to the ti