“Edwin,” said Mrs. Harcourt at breakfast two days later, “you remember the old gentleman at whose house we called the first day you were with me?”

“Mr. Anderson? Yes.”

“We are invited to dine there to-day.”

“At what time do you wish to start?”

“I shall not take you. You would find it very tedious, and embarrassing also if my uncle should have one of his insane attacks.”

“Very well; I am satisfied to do as you wish.”

“I should prefer to stay away myself but I have no good excuse. You had better make an excursion somewhere as my uncle may insist on sending to the hotel for you.”

“Very well, I will go to Staten Island. I have never been there.”

In due time Mrs. Harcourt found herself at her uncle’s residence, and was ushered into his presence. The old man received her cordially, but appeared to be looking for some one else.

“Where is the boy?” he asked. “Where is Edwin?”

“You must excuse him, uncle. He had a headache, and I sent him on an excursion.”

The old man leaned back in apparent disappointment.

“I am sorry,” he said feebly. “The sight of him with youth, and his bright face, cheered me up. I wished to see him again.”

“I am really very sorry, uncle.”

“Don’t you think he will come by and by?”

“He may. If he gets rid of his headache.”

“I don’t know why it was that we thought him dead. Basil thought so.”

“Such unfounded rumors get currency, uncle; I should not have been surprised if I had been reported dead.”

“I hope that will not be for a long time. You look very well.”

“Yes, I am in excellent health, I am glad to say. By the way, where is Basil?”

“He is in Chicago, but I had a letter from him yesterday in which he says he will be here next Monday.” “Does he know I am in the city?” asked Mrs. Harcourt abruptly.

“I wrote him so. He is much pleased to hear that Edwin is alive and well, and is anxious to see him.”

Mrs. Harcourt’s face changed, but her uncle was short-sighted and he did not observe it.

“I shall be glad to see Basil,” she said in a constrained tone. “When did you say he would be here?”

“Next Monday.”

“That will come soon.”

“Yes; I shall feel very glad to have Basil back. He is a great deal of company for me. He is always kind, always considerate.”

“So he is, uncle.”

Those were Mrs. Harcourt’s words, but there was a sneer upon her face which her uncle did not see.

“You had better keep him with you, uncle,” she said.

“I wish I could have you both with me.”

“I am devoted to Edwin, you know. I am anxious to have him well educated.”

“And is that why you have remained in Europe so long?”

“Yes.” “I suppose he can speak both French and German?”

“Yes.”

“If Basil were here he would like to converse with the boy in French.”

“Does Basil speak French?” asked Mrs. Harcourt, in a tone of something like dismay.

“Yes; he has been taking conversational lessons for two years. He could read before.”

“What was this for?”

“French is always useful, and he had the time.”

“Yes; I suppose he doesn’t do much law business.”

“He has a small income, and will have more, so that he is in a measure independent of his profession.”

“He will have more if my Edwin dies. I hope he is not counting upon that. If he does I shall hate him.”

“How can you do Basil such injustice? I was not alluding to that. I referred to his expectations from me.”

“That is different. In the course of nature he will survive you.”

“Yes, and by many years, I hope. I shall not forget Edwin either. There is something very winning about your son, Maria. Even if there were no ties of blood I think I should like him.”

Mrs. Harcourt smiled—a peculiar smile.

“You are very kind, uncle,” she said, “but Edwin is very well provided for. He has an income of ten thousand dollars.”

“True! I hope he will live long to enjoy it.”

“By the way, where are the Mordaunts? They and Basil would inherit my boy’s property if he should unfortunately die.”

“I don’t know. I wish I could get track of them.”

“Where were they when you last heard of them?”

“Living in Springfield, Illinois.”

“How were their circumstances?”

“They were comfortably situated, but had no means, I believe, outside of Mr. Mordaunt’s income as a salesman. Basil wrote to a friend in Springfield to inquire after them, but he could not find them.”

“Probably if they were poor they would let you know,” suggested Mrs. Harcourt with a sneer.

“No; Mrs. Mordaunt was always proud, and I fear would suffer in silence rather than let their wants be known.” About an hour after dinner Mrs. Harcourt signified her intention of returning to the hotel.

“Don’t hurry, Maria,” said Mr. Anderson.

“I have some things that require my attention. I will call again soon.”

“When Basil returns I shall send for you and the boy to dine with me. Mind, you must bring the boy then at any rate.”

“Oh, yes, without fail. And so Basil will be here next Monday?”

“Yes, that is when I expect him.”

Mrs. Harcourt went back to the hotel in a disturbed state of mind.

“Basil must not meet Edwin,” she said in a tone of decision. “He would penetrate the imposture. It is not safe for me to stay in New York. I must leave the city, and that before Basil returns. Where shall I go?”

Mrs. Harcourt was a woman of energy and decision.

She ordered a cab and drove to the offices of the Cunard steamer.

“What steamer sails next Saturday?” she asked.

“The Etruria.”

“Have you any staterooms left?” “They were all taken, but this morning we had two returned.”

“I will take them.”

“What names, please?”

“Mrs. M. Harcourt and Edwin Harcourt.”

“Very good.”

“At what hour will it be necessary to embark?”

“At nine in the morning.”

Mrs. Harcourt bowed.

“We will be on hand.”

She smiled a satisfied smile as she left the office.

“I don’t think Basil Wentworth will follow us to Europe,” she reflected. “It would be dangerous to have him and Edwin meet. By the help of this boy, whose appearance does me credit, I shall still be able to retain his ten thousand dollars a year. I should be a fool to give it up.”

Meanwhile Ben had made his visit to Staten Island. Near the Astor House he had met Frank Mordaunt selling papers.

“Good morning, Frank,” he said. “I hope it all came out right—about the rent, I mean.”

“Yes, Ben, thanks to your kindness—mother felt very happy when I took in the money and she knew there would be no need to move. She wants you to come over to supper some evening, if you won’t mind our poor accommodations.”

“Don’t forget, Frank, that I am a poor boy myself, or was till I fell in with the lady that is taking care of me.”

“What is her name, Ben?”

“Harcourt.”

Frank started.

“We have relations of that name,” he said.

“This lady is rich.”

“So is the one I refer to. However, I suppose it is a common name.”

It was now Thursday.

On Friday afternoon, Mrs. Harcourt said, “I want you to pack up this evening, Edwin. We leave this hotel to-morrow morning early.”

“Where do we go—mother?”

“I won’t tell you now, Edwin,” said Mrs. Harcourt playfully. “I want it to be a surprise.”

The next morning the cab called at an early hour, and Ben and his patroness got in. Mrs. Harcourt instructed the driver where to go in a low voice. The door was closed, and they rattled down town through Eighth Avenue.

At length they reached the pier, and with some difficulty threaded their way through the crowd of vehicles. The stately steamer was already alive with passengers and their friends.

“What steamer is that!” asked Ben in excitement.

“It is the Etruria, and in an hour we shall be on our way to Europe,” answered Mrs. Harcourt composedly.