“Uncle Halley,” he said firmly, “I want to go to England, let’s go at once, as soon as possible, I want you to let me take your name. If you are looking after me, let me be Roy Halley. Do you mind?”
The Doctor understood the proud young heart of the boy.
“My dear boy,” he said “nothing would please me better. You were left to me, and I have only you to look after in my old age. You shall bear my name and be my adopted son.”
The boy threw his head up.
“Then I shall call you ‘Father,’ and I will try and forget the hated name of Desmond, which never was my mother’s. You are the only father I have ever known,” and he came and kissed the old man with the sweet grace of his mother.
They went to England, when everything had been settled up.
The villa Halley could not bear to let or sell; he arranged for the old servant to live there with a small pension for her needs. Halley paid everything himself, and retained Carlotta’s savings for the boy against his need.
Time works miracles with the young, and Roy in the glories and the struggles of life at a public school, soon retained only a hallowed memory of his mother, and refused to let his mind dwell on the other horror.
At Oxford his voice and acting first became noticeable. He was much in request for his playing and singing, and was looked upon as a promising amateur actor. His easy grace of manner, and the recklessness of his spending, due not to extravagance, but to the family tradition which spoke loud in him, made him a general favourite, and he was no mean athlete, which in the glorious days of the varsity, counts for more than brains or money.
In his third year he was occupying a position which perhaps never comes again to a man. In the little kingdom of his college he was a small god. In after life men hold great positions, but then disillusionment has come and the freshness of youth has gone.