family
disowned him, and left him to starve. He died in the struggle against
a poverty he was not brought up to, and my dam went into service again;
became housekeeper to an old bachelor--sent me to school--but mother
had a family by the old bachelor, and I was taken from school and put to
trade. All hated me--for I was ugly; damn them! Mother cut me--I wanted
money--robbed the old bachelor--was sent to gaol, and learned there a
lesson or two how to rob better in future. Mother died,--I was adrift on
the world. The world was my foe--could not make it up with the world,
so we went to war;--you understand, old boy? Married a poor woman and
pretty;--wife made me jealous--had learned to suspect every one. Alice
born--did not believe her mine: not like me--perhaps a gentleman's
child. I hate--I loathe gentlemen. Got drunk one night--kicked my wife
in the stomach three weeks after her confinement. Wife died--tried
for my life--got off. Went to another county--having had a sort of
education, and being sharp eno', got work as a mechanic. Hated work just
as I hated gentlemen--for was I not by blood a gentleman? There was the
curse. Alice grew up; never looked on her as my flesh and blood. Her
mother was a w----! Why should not _she_ be one? There, that's
enough. Plenty of excuse, I think, for all I have ever done. Curse the
world--curse the rich--curse the handsome--curse--curse all!"

"You have been a very foolish man," said the banker; "and seem to me to
have had very good cards, if you had known how to play them. However,
that is your lookout. It is not yet too late to repent; age is creeping
on you.--Man, there is another world."

The banker said the last words with a tone of solemn and even dignified
adjuration.

"You think so--do you?" said Darvil, staring at him.

"From my soul I do."

"Then you are not the sensible man I took you for," replied Darvil,
drily; "and I should like to talk to you on that subject."

But our Dives, however sincere a believer, was by no means one

"At whose control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul."

He had words of comfort for the pious, but he had none for the
sceptic--he could soothe, but he could not convert. It was not in his
way; besides, he saw no credit in making a convert of Luke Darvil.
Accordingly, he again rose with some quickness, and said:

"No, sir; that is useless, I fear, and I have no time to spare; and so
once more good night to you."

"But