"Your affectionate Uncle,
"Windermear."
"One thing is very clear, Timothy," said I, laying the letter on the table, "that it cannot be intended for me."
"How do you know, sir, that this lord is not your uncle? At all events, you must do as he bids you."
"What—go for the papers! most certainly I shall not."
"Then how in the name of fortune do you expect to find your father, when you will not take advantage of such an opportunity of getting into society? It is by getting possession of other people's secrets, that you will worm out your own."
"But it is dishonest, Timothy."
"A letter is addressed to you, in which you have certain directions; you break the seal with confidence, and you read what you find is possibly not for you; but, depend upon it, Japhet, that a secret obtained is one of the surest roads to promotion. Recollect your position; cut off from the world, you have to re-unite yourself with it, to recover your footing, and create an interest. You have not those who love you to help you—you must not scruple to obtain your object by fear."
"That is a melancholy truth, Tim," replied I; "and I believe I must put my strict morality in my pocket."
"Do, sir, pray, until you can afford to be moral; it's a very expensive virtue that; a deficiency of it made you an outcast from the world, you must not scruple at a slight deficiency on your own part, to regain your position."