"If I were his son!" repeated Hector, slowly, his head swimming.
"What do you mean by that? Of course I am your brother's son."

"It is very painful for me to tell, Hector. It will be distressing
for you to hear. No tie of blood connects you with the late owner of
Castle Roscoe."

"I don't believe you, Uncle Allan," said Hector, bluntly.

"Of course, therefore, I am not your uncle," added Allan Roscoe,
dryly.

"I beg your pardon; I should have said Mr. Allan Roscoe," said
Hector, bowing proudly, for his heart was sore, and he was deeply
indignant with the man who sat, smooth and sleek, in his father's
chair, harrowing up his feelings without himself being ruffled.

"That is immaterial. Call me uncle, if you like, since the truth is
understood. But I must explain."

"I would like to know what is your authority for so surprising a
statement, Mr. Roscoe. You cannot expect me to believe that I have
been deceived all my life."

"I make the statement on your father's authority--I should say, on
my brother's authority."

"Can you prove it, Mr. Roscoe?"