'All this,' said Mr Maurice, solemnly, 'was the result of the indulgence
of a single bad passion.'

'But the little boy?' inquired Mrs Maurice.

'The husband of the daughter proved to be a miserable, worthless
fellow, and for some time the old man sent them remittances of money,
but after a while his new passion triumphed over paternal love, and the
prayers of the poor woman were unheeded. Two or three years ago she came
to the city on foot--a weary distance, the old man said, but he could
not tell how far, bringing with her the little boy that first attracted
my attention to-night. Her husband was dead, and her elder children had
one by one followed him to the grave, till there was only this, the
youngest left. She had come to the city, hoping that her presence would
be more successful than her letters had been in softening the old man's
heart, but she only came to die. Her journey had worn her out, and she
was to be no tax upon the old man's treasures. She died, and the
miserable grandfather could not cast off her only son. The little
fellow's face looks wan and melancholy; as if from suffering and want,
and he seems to have passed at once from a child into an old man,
without knowing anything of the intermediate stage.'

'Poor boy!' said Mrs Maurice 'you didn't leave him alone with his
grandfather, I hope?'

'No, I engaged a neighbour to spend the night with them, and called at
my office on my way home to write a letter to a brother, of whom the old
man told me, who is now residing in the country. The little grandson
will probably be wealthy now, but I do not believe the enjoyment of it