that his happiness depended upon Alec's acceding to the proposed change
of his life-plan. His mind full of this secondary subject, he perused
the sheets of the letter with singular impatience and distaste. Any man
might, in the most favourable circumstances, have been excused for
experiencing impatience at having so wild a tale foisted in brief
confusion upon his credulity; in the mood of his present circumstance
the elder Trenholme refolded the letter, using within himself the
strongest language in his vocabulary.

Robert Trenholme was not a happy man just now. Since he had last seen
Alec a change had come to him which made this matter of the other's
calling of warmer interest than it had been. Then his early love for
Sophia Rexford had been a memory and a far, half-formed hope; now it had
been roused again to be a true, steady flame, an ever-present influence.
His one desire now was to win her affection. He would not be afraid then
to tell her all that there was to tell of himself, and let her love
decide. He did not feel that he should wrong her in this. At present he
had everything to give, she everything to receive, except the possession
of gentle blood, which would apparently be her only dowry. The girl he
could not once have dared to address was now working servantless in her
father's kitchen; he knew that it was no light drudgery; and he could
offer her a comparatively luxurious home, and a name that had attracted
to itself no small honour. He had a nice appreciation for what is called
position, and the belief that their mutual positions had changed was
very sweet to him. All his mind expanded in this thought, as the nerves
of the opium-eater to the influence of his drug; it soothed him when he
was weary; it consoled him when he was vexed; it had come to him as an
unexpected, unsought good, like a blessing direct from heaven.

This was as things now were; but if his brother adhered to his purpose