Hector bowed. After what he had heard, his interest in other matters was but faint.
“I shall be glad to get him out of the house,” thought Allan Roscoe. “I never liked him.”
CHAPTER IV. A SKIRMISH.
Hector walked out of the house in a state of mental bewilderment not easily described. Was he not Hector Roscoe, after all? Had he been all his life under a mistake? If this story were true, who was he, who were his parents, what was his name? Why had the man whom he had supposed to be his father not imparted to him this secret? He had always been kind and indulgent; he had never appeared to regard the boy as an alien in blood, but as a dearly loved son. Yet, if he had, after all, left him unprovided for, he had certainly treated Hector with great cruelty.
“I won’t believe it,” said Hector, to himself.
“I won’t so wrong my dear father’s memory at the bidding of this man, whose interest it is to trump up this story, since he and his son become the owners of a great estate in my place.”
Just then Guy advanced toward Hector with a malicious smile upon his face. He knew very well what a blow poor Hector had received, for he was in his father’s confidence, and he was mean enough, and malicious enough, to rejoice at it.
“What’s the matter with you, Hector?” he asked, with a grin. “You look as if you had lost your last friend.”
Hector stopped short and regarded Guy fixedly.