CHAPTER IV.

A SKIRMISH.





Hector walked out of the house in a state of mental bewilderment not
easily described. Was he not Hector Roscoe, after all? Had he been
all his life under a mistake? If this story were true, who was he,
who were his parents, what was his name? Why had the man whom he had
supposed to be his father not imparted to him this secret? He had
always been kind and indulgent; he had never appeared to regard the
boy as an alien in blood, but as a dearly loved son. Yet, if he had,
after all, left him unprovided for, he had certainly treated Hector
with great cruelty.

"I won't believe it," said Hector, to himself.

"I won't so wrong my dear father's memory at the bidding of this
man, whose interest it is to trump up this story, since he and his
son become the owners of a great estate in my place."

Just then Guy advanced toward Hector with a malicious smile upon his
face. He knew very well what a blow poor Hector had received, for he
was in his father's confidence, and he was mean enough, and
malicious enough, to rejoice at it.