efore him was utterly selfish and
unscrupulous, he had no doubt, and little good, he feared, could be done
by appealing to the conscience or better feelings of one who could act
deliberately as he had done. Was he, then, to leave his little nephew
in his father's hands, to be brought up to the stage--or, in other
words, to certain ruin under the training of such a man? The thought
was not to be endured. No, he must make the sacrifice.

While these things were passing through his mind, his companion looked
about him with cool indifference, kicking the leaves and sticks at his
feet, and whistling in a low tone some operatic air. Then he broke
silence. "Which is it to be, Mr Huntingdon?" he asked. "Am I to keep
little George, or do you wish to have him back again? You know the
conditions; and you may be sure that I should not have taken the trouble
to meet you here if I had any thoughts of changing my mind."

Amos looked sadly and kindly at him, and then said, "And can you really,
Mr Vivian, justify this conduct of yours to yourself? Can you feel
really happy in the course you are pursuing? Oh! will you not let me
persuade you--for my poor sister's sake, for your own sake--to leave
your present mode of life, and to seek your happiness in the only path
which God can bless? I would gladly help you in any way I could--"

But here his companion broke in, scorn on his lip, and a fierce
malignant anger glaring from his eyes. "Stop, stop, Mr Huntingdon!
enough of that. We are not come here for a preaching or a prayer-
meeting. The die has long since been cast, and the Rubicon crossed.
You can take your course; I will take mine. If you have nothing more
agreeable to say to me, we had better each go our own way, and leave
matters as they are."

"No," said Amos, firmly but sorrowfully; "it shall not be so. I promise
that you shall have my cheque for fifty pounds when you have placed
little George in my hands, and on the understanding that you pledge your
word, as a man of honour, to leave the children with me unmolested."

"Exactly so," replied the other; "and now, as a little matter of
business, I shall be obliged by your making out the cheque to `John
Smith or Bearer,'--that, certainly, will tell no tales."

"And where shall I send it to meet you? to what address?"

"To no address at all, if you please. I will be myself at the spot
where the four lanes meet near your house, to the north of the Manor; it
is a