reverence, without knowing who or what was his father, or who even
was the mother by whose shame he was brought into being."

Lord Sherbrooke was immediately grave, for he saw that Wilton was
hurt; and he replied frankly and kindly, "I beg your pardon, my dear
Wilton--I did not intend to pain you, and had not the slightest idea
of how you were circumstanced. To tell the truth, I took it for
granted that you were the son of good Lord Sunbury; and thought that
you were, of course, well aware of all the particulars."

"Of none, Sherbrooke, of none," replied Wilton. "Suspicions may have
crossed my mind that it is as you supposed, but then many other things
tend to make me believe that such is not the case. At all events, one
thing is clear--I have no family, no kindred; or if I have
relations, they are ashamed of the tie that binds me to them, and
voluntarily disown it."

"Pshaw! Wilton," exclaimed Lord Sherbrooke--"family! What matters a
family? Make yourself one, Wilton. The best of us can but trace his
lineage back to some black-bearded Northman, or yellow-haired Saxon,
no better than a savage of some cannibal island of the South Sea--a
fellow who tore his roast meat with unwashed fingers, and never knew
the luxury of a clean shirt. Make a family for yourself, I say; and
let the hundredth generation down, if the world last so long, boast
that the head of the house was a gentleman, and wore gold lace on his
coat."

Wilton smiled, saying, "I fear the prospect of progeny, Sherbrooke,
will never be held as an equivalent for the retrospect of ancestors."