"Continue, then, to call me Joseph Brent. That name is mine by act of legislature."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, and I have a still better claim. It was the name of my grandfather—my mother's father. It was also the name of his eldest son, my uncle, who died recently a bachelor, in the State of Missouri, and left me his farm there, on condition that I should take his name. I was more anxious to have his name than his estate. So I applied to the legislature, and the name that I had borrowed so long became my own of right."
"So I am to introduce you to my young friends as Mr. Joseph Brent?"
"Yes, if you please. Let the name of poor Victor Hartman sink quietly into the grave. And do not let them know that I was Victor Hartman, or that Joseph Brent was ever their benefactor," said the exile, gravely.
"I will keep your counsel so long as you require me to do so, hoping that the time may speedily come when all shall be made as clear to these young people as it is to me."
"Now when will you introduce me to my children?"
"To-morrow, after the ceremonies are concluded. But, my friend, it is a little strange to hear you call these grown-up young people your children, when you yourself can be but little older than the young man."
"In years, yes. But in long experience, suffering, thought, how much older I am than he is! You yourself said that, to all outward appearance, I might be the father of the boy who went away two years ago."
"Yes, for you are very much changed—not only in your person, but in dress and address."