When Robert left the ring, the old man sank back into his seat, and his interest in the performance ceased. For some reason his nephew also was anxious to leave the tent.

"Uncle," he said, "hadn't we better go back to the hotel? It will be too fatiguing for you to remain here all the evening."

"Will that boy ride again?" asked Mr. Richmond, eagerly.

"No, he is not to appear again."

"Then I think I will go. As you say, I may feel fatigued."

There was a hack in waiting to convey them back to the hotel, for the distance was too great for a feeble old man to walk.

When they reached the hotel, Mr. Richmond went at once to his chamber, attended by his nephew.

"You had better go to bed at once, uncle," said Hugo, and he prepared to leave the room.

"Stay a moment, Hugo. I want to speak to you," said the old man.

"Very well, uncle," and Hugo seated himself.

"The sight of that boy has affected me strangely, Hugo," said Mr. Richmond. "He seems just what Julian was at his age."

"You said so before, uncle," said Hugo, in a tone of annoyance; "but I assure you there is nothing in it. My eyes are better than yours, and I could see no likeness."

"Suppose Julian's child were living," proceeded Mr. Richmond, not heeding his nephew's last speech, "he would be about the age of that boy."

"There are tens of thousands of boys about the same age, uncle," said Hugo, flippantly.

"Yes, but they haven't his look," returned the old man, shrewdly.

"Really, uncle, you are troubling yourself to no purpose. The son of Julian died when he was four years old, as Fitzgerald reported to us."

"He might be mistaken. If he only were!" exclaimed the old man, with deep emotion. "How bright my few remaining years would be if I had Julian's son with me!"

"No doubt. But he is dead, and we may as well give up all thoughts of such a possibility. Besides, uncle, you have me, and I try to do all I can for you. If I have failed, I deeply regret it," continued Hugo, assuming a tone of sorrow.

"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."

As Hugo left the room, he said to himself, "I will do as my uncle requests, but for my own benefit, not his. Though I would not confess it to him, the resemblance to my cousin is startling. I don't wonder Uncle Cornelius noticed it. Can it be possible that Fitzgerald deceived me, and that the boy is really alive, and is a bareback circus-rider? He is capable of playing me false. If he has done so, I must at all hazards prevent my uncle finding it out. The estate of Chestnutwood, for which I have schemed so long, must be mine. The life of a frail old man alone separates me from it now, but if this boy were found, then I should sink back to my life of humble dependence. It shall never be!"

It was not yet 10 o'clock, and Hugo was in no mood for bed. He went down-stairs and remained in the bar room till the return of the hotel guests who were connected with the circus.

Towards 10.30, Mr. Coleman, proprietor of the circus, entered the office of the hotel. He was in good spirits, for there had been a large attendance at the first performance, and the prospects of a successful season were flattering.

"Good evening, Mr. Coleman," said Hugo, approaching the manager, to whom he had been introduced; "did your first performance pass off well?"

"It was immense, sir, immense! I am proud of Crampton! It has received me royally," returned the manager, enthusiastically.

"I am glad to hear it. May I offer you a cigar?"

"Thank you, sir."

"You will find mine choicer than any you can procure here. I spent a part of the evening at the tent."

"I hope you didn't get tired."

"Oh, no; that was not the cause of my coming away. The fact is, my uncle, who was with me, became fatigued (he is a very old man), and I felt obliged to come home with him. I should have been glad to stay till the close."

"It's a pity you did. Coleman's circus, though I do say it myself, has no superior on the road this season."

"I can easily believe it, sir. By the way, I was rather interested in the bareback riding."

"It takes everywhere. I have two of the smartest boy riders in the country."

"Where did you pick them up?" asked Hugo, with assumed carelessness.

"The younger one, Charlie Davis, comes from Canada."

"My attention was particularly attracted to the other."

"Robert Rudd?"

"Yes, if that is his name. How long has he been with you?"

"Two seasons. Before that he was with another smaller circus."

"How long has he been riding?"

"Ever since he was eight or nine years old. That boy is perfectly fearless with horses. Not many grown men can ride as well. And that isn't all! I could easily make a lion tamer of him if he were willing. He has a wonderful power over the wild beasts. I believe he would go into their cages and they wouldn't offer to harm him."

"My cousin Julian had a passion for horses," thought Hugo. "If this boy were his son he would come honestly by his taste."

"You don't know how he came to adopt such a life, do you?" he asked.

"No; I believe the boy was alone in the world. I have heard him say he was under the care of a man who called himself his uncle, but for whom he does not seem to entertain any affection. Whether this man deserted him, or he ran away from the man, I don't know. At any rate he fell in with some men in our business, and a well-known rider, seeing that the boy was quick and daring, offered to instruct him in his special line. The boy accepted, and that is the way he drifted into the show business."

"You say he has no relatives?"

"None that he knows of."

"Has he any education?"

"He can read and write, and I believe he knows something of arithmetic. He is smart enough, if he ever got an opportunity, to learn. I am selfish, however, and should not like to lose him, though I might consent if he could better himself. You see, sir, although I am in the show business myself, I don't consider it a very desirable career for a boy to follow. I've got a boy of my own, but I have placed him at boarding-school, and he shall never, with my permission, join a circus. You'll think it strange, Mr. Richmond, but so far as I know, Henry has never yet witnessed a circus performance."

"I quite agree with you, Mr. Coleman," said Hugo. "Then I offer you another cigar."

"Thanks, but I never smoke but one just before going to bed. If you are here to-morrow evening I shall be glad to offer you a ticket to the show."

"Thank you, but I must get away to-morrow with my uncle."

As Hugo went up-stairs to his room he said to himself, "It is high time we left the place, for the manager's story leads me to think this boy may be my cousin's son after all. My uncle must never know or suspect it, or my hopes of an inheritance are blasted."

The next morning when Hugo entered his uncle's apartment, according to custom, the old man asked eagerly, "Did you learn anything about the boy, Hugo?"

"Yes, uncle, I learned all about him. He was born in Montreal, and his father and mother live there now. He sends them half his earnings regularly. His name—that is, his real name—is Oliver Brown."

Mr. Richmond never thought of doubting the truth of this smoothly-told fiction, but he was greatly disappointed. He sighed deeply, and when Hugo proposed to continue their journey that day he made no objection.