"It's three years since I have seen America," he said to himself,
thoughtfully. "I suppose I ought to feel a patriotic fervor about
setting foot once more on my native shore, but I don't believe in
nonsense. I would be content to live in Europe all my life, if my
uncle's fortune were once in my possession. I am his sole heir, but
he persists in holding on to his money bags, and limits me to a paltry
three thousand a year. I must see if I can't induce him to give me a
good, round sum on account--fifty thousand, at least--and then I can
wait a little more patiently till he drops off."

"When shall we reach port, captain?" he asked, as he passed that
officer.

"In four hours, I think, Mr. Wade."

"So this is my birthday," he said to himself.

"Thirty five years old to-day. Half my life gone, and I am still a
dependent on my uncle's bounty. Suppose he should throw me off--leave me
out in the cold--where should I be? If he should find the boy--but no,
there is no chance of that. I have taken good care of that. By the way,
I must look him up soon--cautiously, of course--and see what has
become of him. He will grow up a laborer or mechanic and die without
a knowledge of his birth, while I fill his place and enjoy his
inheritance."

At six o'clock the vessel reached the Quarantine. Most of the passengers
decided to remain on board one night more, but John Wade was impatient,
and, leaving his trunks, obtained a small boat, and soon touched the
shore.