"Stay a moment, Hugo. I want to speak to you," said the old man.
"Very well, uncle," and Hugo seated himself.
"The sight of that boy has affected me strangely, Hugo," said Mr. Richmond. "He seems just what Julian was at his age."
"You said so before, uncle," said Hugo, in a tone of annoyance; "but I assure you there is nothing in it. My eyes are better than yours, and I could see no likeness."
"Suppose Julian's child were living," proceeded Mr. Richmond, not heeding his nephew's last speech, "he would be about the age of that boy."
"There are tens of thousands of boys about the same age, uncle," said Hugo, flippantly.
"Yes, but they haven't his look," returned the old man, shrewdly.
"Really, uncle, you are troubling yourself to no purpose. The son of Julian died when he was four years old, as Fitzgerald reported to us."
"He might be mistaken. If he only were!" exclaimed the old man, with deep emotion. "How bright my few remaining years would be if I had Julian's son with me!"
"No doubt. But he is dead, and we may as well give up all thoughts of such a possibility. Besides, uncle, you have me, and I try to do all I can for you. If I have failed, I deeply regret it," continued Hugo, assuming a tone of sorrow.