“Yes, Lewis Rand; he shared your studies and your sports, and was, in all respects, treated like yourself. The only difference was in your prospects. You were to inherit a large fortune, while he——”
“My father would have provided for him.”
“No doubt, but not equally. That would not have been expected, of course. When Lewis grew old enough to understand this, it filled him with envy and jealousy.”
“Can this be true?” asked Robert Ford—to call him by the name to which we are accustomed,—“can this be true? yet he was always cordial and friendly. His manner never afforded any ground for suspecting that he cherished such feelings.”
“He knew his own interests too well for that. Inferior as his prospects were, they all depended upon your father’s good-will. It would, therefore, have been in the highest degree unwise, to disclose a feeling sure to alienate it.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Mr. Ford, thoughtfully.
“Therefore, he only nursed this feeling in secret. Yet he none the less watched for an opportunity to injure you. His patience was at length rewarded. That time arrived.”
Robert Ford, as if half surmising what was to follow, rose in some agitation, and began to pace the room.
“I trust,” said Mr. Sharp, “you will excuse me for introducing a delicate subject. There is a time when the susceptible heart of a young man first yields to the tender passion.”
“I understand you,” said Mr. Ford, in a low voice.