The old gentleman drew his chair nearer to Sidney; the young man held up his hand.
"Pardon me, but I have no desire to hear it. Were I to press my father, I could learn it from his own lips. Please state the object of your coming hither."
"To make the first advances in the latter days that have come to him and me," he said; "can I say more? To help him if he be in distress—and to assist his son if he find the world hard to cope with. It is a romantic appearance, a romantic penitence if you will, for not allowing your father to spend my money as well as his own," he added, with a slight curl of the lip, which turned Sidney suddenly against him; "but it is an effort to bridge over the gulf to which you have recently alluded."
"I fear my father will not thank you for the effort," was the cold reply; "and for the help which you would offer now, I can answer for his refusal."
"Ah! he was always a proud fellow, and blind to his own interest," was the quiet observation here; "his friends laughed at his pride, and traded in his weakness before you were born."
"He has one friend living who respects them now, sir."
"His son, I presume?"
"His son, sir."
"I am glad that his son is so high-spirited; but he will find that amiable feeling rather in the way of his advancement."
"No, sir—I think not."