PART X.




CHAPTER I.


My uncle's conjecture as to the parentage of Francis Vivian seemed to me
a positive discovery. Nothing more likely than that this wilful boy had
formed some headstrong attachment which no father would sanction, and
so, thwarted and irritated, thrown himself on the world. Such an
explanation was the more agreeable to me as it cleared up much that had
appeared discreditable in the mystery that surrounded Vivian. I could
never bear to think that he had done anything mean and criminal, however
I might believe he had been rash and faulty. It was natural that the
unfriended wanderer should have been thrown into a society, the
equivocal character of which had failed to revolt the audacity of an
inquisitive mind and adventurous temper; but it was natural also that
the habits of gentle birth, and that silent education which English
gentlemen commonly receive from their very cradle, should have preserved
his honor, at least, intact through all. Certainly the pride, the
notions, the very faults of the well-born had remained in full force,--
why not the better qualities, however smothered for the time? I felt
thankful for the thought that Vivian was returning to an element in
which he might repurify his mind, refit himself for that sphere to which
he belonged, thankful that we might yet meet, and our present half-
intimacy mature, perhaps, into healthful friendship.

It was with such thoughts that I took up my hat the next morning to seek