"No, no; I have no fault to find with you, Hugo," said his uncle, hastily. "You are devoted to me, as I am well aware; but you cannot be to me what a son or a grandson might be."
"No, I suppose not," said Hugo, with a sneer which his uncle did not detect. "But I am afraid, uncle, you will have to be content with my humble services, however unacceptable they may be."
"Nay, Hugo, I do not mean to mortify you. I am truly grateful for your devotion, and you will find it to be so when I am gone."
"You are a long time going!" thought Hugo, as his cold glance rested on the trembling form of his uncle. "It is exasperating that you should linger so, cutting me off perhaps for half a dozen years longer from the enjoyment of the estate which is one day to be mine."
It was well that the old man could not read the thoughts of the man in whom he placed so much confidence. He little knew the cold, crafty, scheming character of the man who supplied to him the place of son and grandson.
"If you have no more to say, uncle, I will leave you," said Hugo, rising.
"I came near forgetting. I want you to find out all about that boy and let me know. The manager boards at this hotel."
"Still harping on the boy!" muttered Hugo. "Very well, uncle, I will do as you say."
"Thank you, Hugo. I shall feel more easy in mind when I have learned."