settled
himself down in his easy-chair to read; but his nephew's prospects could
not be banished from his mind. He went over the whole argument again,
mentally, with copious additions, ere he became aware of the fact, that
for three-quarters of an hour he had been, (apparently), reading the
newspaper upside down.

CHAPTER THREE.

HOPES AND FEARS--MR. SHIRLEY RECEIVES A VISIT AND A WILD PROPOSAL.

When Edward Sinton left his chamber, an hour after the conversation
related in the last chapter, his brow was unruffled and his step light.
He had made up his mind that, come what might, he would not resist the
wishes of his only near relative and his best friend.

There was a day in the period of early boyhood that remained as fresh on
the memory of young Sinton as if it had been yesterday--the day on which
his mother died. The desolation of his early home on that day was like
the rising of a dark thunder-cloud on a bright sky. His young heart was
crushed, his mind stunned, and the first ray of light that broke upon
him--the first gush of relief--was when his uncle arrived and took him
on his knee, and, seated beside the bed where that cold, still form lay,
wept upon the child's neck as if his heart would break. Mr Shirley
buried the sister whom he had been too late to see alive. Then he and
his little nephew left the quiet country village and went to dwell in
the great city of London. From that time forward Mr Shirley was a
father to Ned, who loved him more than any one else on earth, and
through his influence he was early led to love and reverence his
heavenly Father and his blessed Redeemer.

The subject of going abroad was the first in regard to which Ned and his
uncle had seriously disagreed, and the effect on the feelings of both
was very strong.

Ned's mind wandered as he put on his hat, and buttoned his great-coat up
to the chin, and drew on his gloves slowly. He was not vain of his
personal appearance; neither was he reckless of it. He always struck
you as being a particularly well-dressed man, and he had naturally a
dashing look about him. Poor fellow! he felt anything but dashing or
reckless as he hurried through the crowded streets in the direction of
the city that day.

Moxton's door was a green one, with a brass knocker and a brass plate,
both of which ornaments, owing to verdigris, were anything but
ornamental. The plate was almost useless, being nearly illegible, but
the knocker was stil