"Married!" I exclaimed. "To whom?"

"To Martin Cobb."

"To my guardian?" I asked, in astonishment.

Not heeding my question, he continued:

"You're intending to go home to-morrow, I believe?"

"Yes, sir."

"My boy," said he, "I have an interest in you. I was your
father's friend and adviser for many years. I came all this
distance to tell you not to go to London. Do not ask me why,
I beg you," said he, with an impatient gesture when I
attempted to speak. "It would do you no good to learn my
reason for making this request. Listen to this--it's
important to you: There's an uncle of yours in America, your
nearest relative, I believe. Of course you have heard your
father speak of him. A most eccentric fellow! but a man of
fine ability. He was a graduate of Oxford and a physician of
great skill and learning. Thirty-five years ago he went to
Canada and finally settled in a large town on one of the
great lakes not far from the border. It was Detroit, I
believe. Your father told me, shortly before his death, that
he had not heard from your uncle for many years. I have
written to him twice within a twelvemonth, but have received
no reply. I want you to go over and look him up. If you
should find that he is dead, there's no harm done, and you