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“You have a brother；” said Mr。 Brownlow； rousing himself； “a
brother； the whisper of whose name in your ear when I came
behind you in the street； was； in itself； almost enough to make you
accompany me hither； in wonder and alarm。”
“I have no brother；” replied Monks。 “You know I was an only
child。 Why do you talk to me of brothers？ You know that； as well
as I。”
“Attend to what I do know； and you may not；” said Mr。
Brownlow。 “I shall interest you by and by。 I know that of the
wretched marriage； into which family pride； and the most sordid
and narrowest of all ambition； forced your unhappy father when a
mere boy； you were the sole and most unnatural issue。”
“I don’t care for hard names；” interrupted Monks； with a
jeering laugh。 “You know the fact； and that’s enough for me。”
“But I also know；” pursued the old gentleman； “the misery； the
slow torture； the protracted anguish of that ill…assorted union。 I
know how listlessly and wearily each of that wretched pair
dragged on their heavy chain through a world that was poisoned
to them both。 I know how cold formalities were succeeded by open
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taunts； how indifference gave place to dislike； dislike to hate； and
hate to loathing； until at last they wrenched the clanking bond
asunder； and retiring a wide space apart； carried each a galling
fragment； of which nothing but death could break the rivets； to
hide it in new society beneath the gayest looks they could assume。
Your mother succeeded； she forgot it soon。 But it rusted and
cankered at your father’s heart for years。”
“Well； they were separated；” said Monks； “and what of that？”
“When they had been separated for some time；” returned Mr。
Brownlow； “and your mother； wholly given up to continental
frivolities； had utterly forgotten the young husband ten good years
her junior； who； with prospects blighted； lingered on at home； he
fell among new friends。 This circumstance； at least； you know
already。”
“Not I；” said Monks； turning away his eyes and beating his foot
upon the ground； as a man who is determined to deny everything。
“Not I。”
“Your manner； no less than your actions； assures me that you
have never forgotten it； or ceased to think of it with bitterness；”
returned Mr。 Brownlow。 “I speak of fifteen years ago； when you
were not more than eleven years old； and your father but one…andthirty—for he was； I repeat； a boy； when his father ordered him to
marry。 Must I go back to events which cast a shade upon the
memory of your parent； or will you spare it； and disclose to me the
truth？”
“I have nothing to disclose；” rejoined Monks。 “You must talk on
if you will。”
“These new friends； then；” said Mr。 Brownlow； “were a naval
officer retired from active service； whose wife had died some half a
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year before； and left him with two children—there had been more；
but； of all their family； happily but two survived。 They were both
daughters； one a beautiful creature of nineteen； and the other a
mere child of two or three years old。”
“What’s this to me？” asked Monks。
“They resided；” said Mr。 Brownlow； without seeming to hear
the interruption； “in a part of the country to which your father in
his wanderings had repaired； and where he had taken up his
abode。 Acquaintance； intimacy； friendship； fast followed on each
other。 Your father was gifted as few men are。 He had his sister’s
soul and person。 As the old officer knew him more and more； he
grew to love him。 I would that it had ended there。 His daughter did
the same。”
The old gentleman paused； Monks was biting his lips； with his
eyes fixed upon the floor； seeing this； he immediately resumed：
“The end of a year found him contracted； solemnly contracted；
to that daughter； the object of the first； true； ardent； only passion
of a guileless girl。”
“Your tale is of the longest；” observed Monks； moving restlessly
in his chair。
“It is a true tale of grief； and trial； and sorrow； young man；”
returned Mr。 Brownlow； “and such tales usually are； if it were one
of unmixed joy and happiness； it would be very brief。 At length；
one of those rich relations to strengthen whose interest and
importance your father had been sacrificed； as others are often—it
is no uncommon case—died； and to repair the misery he had been
instrumental in occasioning； left him his panacea for all griefs—
money。 It was necessary that he should immediately repair to
Rome； whither this man had sped for health； and where he had
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died； leaving his affairs in great confusion。 He went； was seized
with mortal illness there； was followed； the moment the
intelligence reached Paris； by your mother； who carried you with
her； he died the day after her arrival； leaving no will—no will—so
that the whole property fell to her and you。”
At this part of the recital； Monks held his breath； and listened
with a face of intense eagerness； though his eyes were not directed
towards the speaker。 As Mr。 Brownlow paused； he changed his
position with the air of one who has experienced a sudden relief；
and wiped his hot face and hands。
“Before he went abroad； and as he passed through London on
his way；” said Mr。 Brownlow slowly； and fixing his eyes upon the
other’s face； “he came to me。”
“I never heard of that；” interrupted Monks； in a tone intended
to appear incredulous； but savouring more of disagreeable
surprise。
“He came to me； and left with me； among some other things； a
picture—a portrait painted by himself—a likeness of this poor
girl—which he did not wish to leave behind； and could not carry
forward on his hasty journey。 He was worn by anxiety and
remorse almost to a shadow； talked in a wild； distracted way； of
ruin and dishonour worked by himself； confided in me his
intention to convert his whole property； at any loss； into money；
and； having settled on his wife and you a portion of his recent
acquisition； to fly the country—I guessed too well he would not fly
alone—and never see it more。 Even from me； his old and early
friend； whose strong attachment had taken root in the earth and
covered one most dear to both—even from me he withheld any
more particular confession； promising to write and tell me all； and
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after that to see me once again； for the last time on earth。 Alas！
That was the last time。 I had no letter； and I never saw him more。
“I went；” said Mr。 Brownlow after a short pause—“I went；
when all was over； to the scene of his—I will use the term the
world would freely use； for worldly harshness or favour are now
alike to him—of his guilty love； resolved that if her fears were
realised； that erring child should find one heart and home to
shelter and compassionate her。 The family had left that part a
week before； they had called in such trifling debts as were
out