"No," said Valentine, "because you gave me that two thousand pounds during your lifetime."
"Yes, my dear; my memory does not fail me. John will not be cursed with one guinea of ill-gotten wealth. Valentine!"
"Yes, uncle, yes; I am here; I am not going away."
"You have the key of my cabinet, in the library. Go and fetch me a parcel that is in the drawer inside."
"Let me ring, then, first for some one to come; for you must not be left alone."
"Leave me, I say, and do as I tell you."
Valentine, vexed, but not able to decline, ran down in breathless haste, found the packet of that peculiar sort and size usually called a banker's parcel, locked the cabinet, and returned to the old man's bed.
"Are we alone?" he asked, when Valentine had made his presence known to him. "Let me feel that parcel. Ah, your father was very dear to me. I owe everything to him—everything."
Valentine, who was not easy as to what would come next, replied like an honourable man, "So you said, uncle, when you generously gave me that two thousand pounds."
"Ill-gotten wealth," old Augustus murmured, "never prospers; it is a curse to its possessor. My son, my John, will have none of it. Valentine!"