John went on:
“I caused inquiries to be set on foot, right and left, for you. I decided what I should do if I were lucky enough to find you.”
The young man interrupted him:
“In the first place, you will tell me something about myself.”
“That,” answered John, readily, “was what I was going to do. In the first place, you are the son of an old friend of mine, who died in Melbourne in poor circumstances, but who left relations there whom you ought to find out, for I have reason to believe, from something I have since heard, that you might establish your claim to some property held in trust for you over there. Of course, under the impression that you would never be able to use it, I have not troubled about it. I am a rich man, and I was able to do all I could for the son of my old friend.”
“Gilbert Wryde!” assented the young man. Seeing the look of surprise on John Bradfield’s face, he added, “I learnt that from Miss Abercarne.”
“Well,” pursued Mr. Bradfield, “there’s only one thing for you to do now; you must make your way to Melbourne—I will supply the funds—and prosecute your inquiries there. In the meantime, I will draw up a will, which you shall see, making you all the reparation in my power.”
“Thank you,” said the young man, still coldly. “I want justice, not benevolence. I can earn enough for myself.”
“But you might marry,” suggested John.