“Suppose I believe the contrary,—what, then?”
“You have reason to know whether what he says is correct or not, Mr. Briggs,” said Gilbert, resolutely. “If you deny it, and assert that he is an impostor, I will consult a lawyer, and have him cross-examine him on the subject, and give me his opinion.”
“You have not spoken to a lawyer yet?” said Mr. Briggs, uneasily.
“No, sir.”
“Lawyers are fond of instituting lawsuits. Probably one would report favorably.”
“I should want to know his grounds. And I would not consent to a suit, unless he convinced me there was good ground for it.”
“Gilbert,” said the merchant, “I feel friendly to you, and I want you to succeed. Say no more about this affair, and to-morrow I will make over to you bank-shares amounting to ten thousand dollars. That will give you a good start in life.”
“I only want what is my own,” said Gilbert, sturdily. “I want what my father left me.”
Mr. Briggs rose, and paced the room in silence. His good and bad angel were contending for the supremacy. The conflict came to an end, and his better nature triumphed. He resumed his seat, looking no longer perplexed or troubled, but as one who had thrown off a burden.
“Gilbert,” he said, “it is all true. I have tried to be a villain; but I won’t be one any longer. Your father left you a fortune, and it shall be restored to you.”