It was perhaps surprising to see at the circus a man as old as Cornelius Richmond, for this was the name of the uncle, but he had been persuaded by his nephew, Hugo, with whom he was travelling, to attend, and, as the only alternative was an evening at a dull hotel, he yielded. But during the first part of the performance he looked on in a listless manner, not seeming interested. Hugo, who was younger, appeared more attentive. But when Robert Rudd bounded into the ring, the old man started, and leaning forward, said quickly, in a tone not free from agitation, "Do you see that boy, Hugo?"
Hugo, too, seemed struck by the boy's appearance, but he answered with studied indifference, "Yes, uncle, I see him. What of him?"
"Is he not the image of my dead son? Never have I seen such a resemblance to what Julian was at his age!"
"My dear uncle," said Hugo, shrugging his shoulders, "I assure you that it is all a fancy on your part. To me he looks very unlike my cousin."
"You don't remember him as I do, Hugo. If Julian's son were living, he would look like that boy."
"Possibly, uncle," said Hugo, carelessly; "but as he is dead that cannot interest us!"
While Robert was in the ring the old man followed him with a glance almost painful in its eagerness.