"What mean you?"
"Nothin', stranger, only I know you. Your mother arn't livin'."
"No," returned Vernon, with a start; for, with all his vices and his crimes, a sense of respect for the name and honor of his family had outlived the good principles imbibed upon a mother's knee. Although a villain in almost every sense of the word, there were many redeeming traits in his character, which the reader will be willing to believe, on recalling his expressions of conscientiousness uttered to Maxwell. Family pride is often hereditary, and the reverses and degradations of a lifetime cannot extinguish it. It was so with Vernon. His real name was unknown, even among his most intimate associates. He had early taken the precaution—not in deference to the feelings of his father—to assume a name; it was from pride of birth, which shuddered more at the thought of a stain upon the family escutcheon than at all the crimes which may canker and corrode the heart.
"My mother is not living," continued he; "but how know you this?"
"It don't matter, stranger. Have you seen your father lately?"
"Not for many years. I am an outcast from his presence," replied Vernon, with some appearance of feeling.
"That's onfortunate; does he know what sort of a lark you are?"
"I hope not," replied Vernon, with a sickly smile.
"But he does; he knows all about this ongodly scrape you got into last night."
"What mean you?" said the ruffian, sternly.