t of men are always ungrateful.' And I
listened to my secretary's advice--more fool I! For it should have been
nothing to me whether the man was ungrateful or not; the thing was to do
the good, and let the result be what it might. Now this poor Meg Ross
has no carriage, but such vehicle as she possesses she shares with one
whom she imagines to be in need. No other motive has moved her save
womanly pity for lonely age and infirmity. She has taught me a lesson by
simply offering a kindness without caring how it might be received or
rewarded. Is not that a lovely trait in human nature?--one which I have
never as yet discovered in what is called 'swagger society'! When I was
in the hey-dey of my career, and money was pouring in from all my
business 'deals' like water from a never-ending main, I had a young
Scotsman for a secretary, as close-fisted a fellow as ever was, who
managed to lose me the chance of doing a great many kind actions. More
than that, whenever I was likely to have any real friends whom I could
confidently trust, and who wanted nothing from me but affection and
sincerity, he succeeded in shaking off the hold they had upon me. Of
course I know now why he did this,--it was in order that he himself
might have his grip of me more securely, but at that time I was
unsuspicious, and believed the best of every one. Yes! I honestly
thought people were honest,--I trusted their good faith, with the result
that I found out the utter falsity of their pretensions. And here I
am,--old and nearing the end of my tether--more friendless than when I
first began to make my fortune, with the certain knowledge that not a
soul has ever cared or cares for me except for what can be got out of me
in the way of hard cash! I have met with more real kindness from the
rough fellows at the 'Trusty Man,' and from the 'Trusty Man's' hostess,
Miss Tranter, and now from this good woman Meg Ross, than has ever been
offered to me by those who know I am rich, and who have 'used' me
accordingly."

Here, coming to a place where two cross-roads met, he paused, looking
about him. The afternoon was declining, and the loveliness of the
landscape was intensified by a mellow softness in the sunshine, which
deepened the rich green of the trees and wakened an opaline iridescence
in the sea. A sign-post on one hand bore the direction "To Cleeve
Abbey," and the road thus indicated wound upward somewhat steeply,
disappearing amid luxuriant verdure which ev