When John Wade re-entered the library, Frank was reading, but Mr. Wharton stopped him.

“That will do, Frank,” he said. “As I have not seen my nephew for a long time, I shall not require you to read any longer. You can go, if you like.”

Frank bowed, and bidding the two good-evening, left the room.

“That is an excellent boy, John.” said the old gentleman, as the door closed upon our hero.

“How did you fall in with him?” asked John. Mr. Wharton told the story with which the reader is already familiar.

“You don’t know anything of his antecedents, I suppose?” said John, carelessly.

“Only what he told me. His father and mother are dead, and he is obliged to support himself and his sister. Did you notice anything familiar in Frank’s expression?” asked Mr. Wharton.

“I don’t know. I didn’t observe him very closely.”

“Whenever I look at Frank, I think of George. I suppose that is why I have felt more closely drawn to the boy. I proposed to Mrs. Bradley that the boy should have a room here, but she did not favor it. I think she is prejudiced against him.”

“Probably she is afraid he would be some trouble,” replied John.

“If George’s boy had lived he would be about Frank’s age. It would have been a great comfort to me to superintend his education, and watch him grow up. I could not have wished him to be more gentlemanly or promising than my young reader.”

“Decidedly, that boy is in my way,” said John Wade to himself. “I must manage to get rid of him, and that speedily, or my infatuated uncle will be adopting him.”

“Of what disease did George’s boy die, John?” asked Mr. Wharton.

“A sudden fever.”

“I wish I could have seen him before he died. But I returned only to find both son and grandson gone. I had only the sad satisfaction of seeing his grave.”

“Yes, he was buried in the family lot at Greenwood, five days before you reached home.”

“When I see men of my own age, surrounded by children and grandchildren, it makes me almost envious,” said Mr. Wharton, sadly. “I declare to you, John, since that boy has been with me, I have felt happier and more cheerful than for years.”

“That boy again!” muttered John to himself. “I begin to hate the young cub, but I mustn’t show it. My first work will be to separate him from my uncle. That will require consideration. I wonder whether the boy knows that he is not Fowler’s son? I must find out. If he does, and should happen to mention it in my uncle’s presence, it might awaken suspicions in his mind. I must interview the boy, and find out what I can. To enlist his confidence, I must assume a friendly manner.”

In furtherance of this determination, John Wade greeted our hero very cordially the next evening, when they met, a little to Frank’s surprise.

When the reading terminated, John Wade said, carelessly:

“I believe, uncle, I will go out for a walk. I think I shall be better for it. In what direction are you going, Frank?”

“Down Sixth Avenue, sir.”

“Very good; I will walk along with you.”

Frank and his companion walked toward Sixth Avenue.

“My uncle tells me you have a sister to support,” said Wade, opening the conversation.

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your sister resemble you?” asked John Wade.

“No, sir! but that is not surprising, for——”

“Why is it not surprising?”

Frank hesitated.

“You were about to assign some reason.”

“It is a secret,” said our hero, slowly; “that is, has been a secret, but I don’t know why I should conceal it. Grace is not my sister. She is Mrs. Fowler’s daughter, but I am not her son. I will tell you the story.”

That story Frank told as briefly as possible. John Wade listened to it with secret alarm.

“It is a strange story,” he said. “Do you not feel a strong desire to learn your true parentage?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t know, but I feel as if I should some day meet the man who gave me into Mrs. Fowler’s charge.”

“You have met him, but it is lucky you don’t suspect it,” thought John Wade.

“I am glad you told me this story,” said he, aloud.

“It is quite romantic. I may be able to help you in your search. But let me advise you to tell no one else at present. No doubt there are parties interested in keeping the secret of your birth from you. You must move cautiously, and your chance of solving the mystery will be improved.”

“Thank you, sir. I will follow your advice.”

“I was mistaken in him,” thought Frank. “I disliked him at first, but he seems inclined to be my friend.”

When Frank reached his lodging he found Jasper waiting up for him. He looked thoughtful, so much so that Frank noticed it.

“You look as if you had something on your mind,” Jasper.

“You have guessed right. I have read that letter.”

He drew from his pocket a letter, which Frank took from his hands.

“It is from an uncle of mine in Ohio, who is proprietor of a weekly newspaper. He is getting old, and finds the work too much for him. He offers me a thousand dollars a year if I will come out and relieve him.”

“That’s a good offer, Jasper. I suppose you will accept it?”

“It is for my interest to do so. Probably my uncle will, after a while, surrender the whole establishment to me.”

“I shall be sorry to part with you, Jasper. It will seem very lonely, but I think you ought to go. It is a good chance, and if you refuse it you may not get such another.”

“My uncle wants me to come on at once. I think I will start Monday.”

Jasper saw no reason to change his determination, and on Monday morning he started on his journey to Ohio.

Thus, at a critical moment in his fortunes, when two persons were planning to injure him, he lost the presence and help of a valued friend.