The same night the two friends joined North's circus, and set out on a leisurely return to the East.
CHAPTER XXXII.
FITZGERALD'S DISAPPOINTMENT.
We must now go back to Chestnutwood, where the old man, Cornelius Richmond, though blessed with a large share of the gifts of fortune, was passing his declining years in loneliness, with no one of his kindred near him except his nephew, Hugo. For years Hugo had been his constant companion; in manner, at least, he had been devoted to his uncle, yet the old man had never been drawn to him. Sometimes he reproached himself because he could not feel more warmly towards his nephew.
"Hugo seems devoted to me," he said to himself. "Why is it that I cannot thoroughly like him? It must be because my heart is in the grave of my son Julian. Ah, if only his son were living, that I might have my grandson with me. That boy whom I saw riding in the circus—I could get to love him for his resemblance to my son; but Hugo tells me he has lost all traces of him."
The simple old man little suspected that his crafty nephew had taken effectual means to prevent his ever seeing any more of this boy, towards whom he felt a yearning affection, for which we can account, though he could not. Indeed, he was not a man to suspect guile of any one, being in himself so guileless, and he really thought that Hugo's attentions were dictated by genuine affection, instead of selfish scheming for his uncle's wealth.
"You have heard nothing more about the boy, Hugo?" he asked one morning.
"No, uncle," answered Hugo, suppressing an expression of impatience.
"It is strange."