"I told you," said Mr. Manners, "that the matter we have left is one vital to your interests. The matter we are now approaching is vital to mine."

"I am sure, sir," said Inglefield, wondering, "anything I can do to serve you--"

"The truth will serve me; nothing less. How long is it since you saw my son, Kingsley?"

"A great many years," replied Inglefield, with a fainting heart.

Here was another unforeseen danger threatening him, for there was nothing of harshness or severity in Mr. Manners's voice; it was, indeed, gentle and tender.

"How long since you have heard of him?"

"Nearly as long. I never corresponded with him, you know. It was enough for me that he offended and deceived you--you, the best of men and fathers!"

Mr. Manners gazed at Mark Inglefield in surprise. This reference to himself as the best of men and fathers was new to him, and from such a quarter quite unexpected.

"I do not deserve your good opinion," he said; "I am not the best of men, and have not been the best of fathers."

"Let others judge," murmured Inglefield.

"They would condemn me, but not more strongly than I condemn myself."

"Why do you agitate yourself, sir?" said Inglefield. "The affair is dead and buried long ago. You have no cause for reproach."

"It is because I have true cause for reproach that I am tortured now. Wrongs may be buried, but they do not die. They live to bear after-fruit."

He leaned his head upon his hand, and a thought flashed suddenly into Mark Inglefield's mind.

"The past has been recalled to you, sir," he said, in a tone of false commiseration, "in some special way."

"Yes, Inglefield."

"Through this Mr. Parkinson?" asked Inglefield. "Yes, through him."

"Ah," cried Inglefield, "then these men are acquainted with each other."

"These men?" repeated Mr. Manners, in inquiry.

"Mr. Parkinson and your son," replied Inglefield, somewhat confused by the question.

"Yes, they are acquainted with each other."

"Then it is your son," exclaimed Inglefield, starting to his feet with a show of passion which was not entirely simulated, "I have to thank for the vile accusation which has been brought against me! It is he I have to thank for blackening my character! And it is by these means that he, after all these years, endeavors to supplant me in your respect!"

"Restrain yourself," said Mr. Manners, "You are doing Kingsley an injustice. With what has passed between us he has nothing whatever to do."

"Then how comes it, sir," demanded Inglefield, speaking still with violence, "that this Mr. Parkinson, this sham working-man--oh, I know them, sir; they trade upon the term, and twist it artfully to their own advantage--how comes it, I ask, that this Parkinson visited Mr. Hollingworth with this trumped-up story while you were with that gentleman? Why, the plot is as clear as daylight! I see it all. The shameless villains!"

"Stop, Inglefield," said Mr. Manners, sternly; "I will not allow you to brand my son with such an epithet. Recall it."

"At your bidding, yes, sir. But none the less am I amazed that you should permit yourself to be duped by such a barefaced, superficial trick."

"How was it possible," asked Mr. Manners, "that Mr. Parkinson knew that I was with Mr. Hollingworth when he called?"

"How was it possible, sir? There was no difficulty in ascertaining a fact so simple. It belongs to the deep-laid plot by which my enemies hope to ruin me."

"Once more I tell you," said Mr. Manners, "that the expectations I have held out to you shall be fulfilled to your satisfaction if you clear yourself of the charge in relation to Mary Parkinson. Be wise, Inglefield; I am not a man to be lightly trifled with, especially at a time like this, when you can see I am deeply moved. Whether Mary Parkinson's story affects you or not, it is a true story; there is no room for doubt; and the introduction of my son's name into it was not premeditated."

"What is it you wish of me?" asked Inglefield, seating himself sullenly.

"Some assistance in recalling what I learned from your lips with respect to my son and his wife."

"Well, sir, I am bound to obey you, though the subject is intensely painful to me."

"How much more painful must it be to me when I have heard that which leads me to doubt the justice of an act which condemned my son to a life of privation!"

"What you have heard from Mr. Parkinson to-night, sir?"

"Yes, from Mr. Parkinson. Inglefield, I remember that you spoke of the lady who won Kingsley's love as an artful, designing woman. If I am exaggerating, correct me."

"I certainly said little in her favor," replied Mark Inglefield, sullenly and ungraciously. There could have been no more unwelcome topic than this, and it was broached at a time when all his attention and skill were required to ward off impending ruin. It proved that he was a man of infinite resource that two such blows dealt at once and so unexpectedly did not completely confound him.

"You must be a great deal more explicit with me, Inglefield," said Mr. Manners. "You said nothing in her favor."

"Well, sir, if you will have it so."

Mr. Manners frowned.

"It is not as I would have it; it is or is not the truth."

"I have no intention of denying it;" and here came a cunning stroke. "Consider, sir. Is it not natural that I should be to some extent unbalanced by what has transpired?"

"Yes, it is natural, Inglefield, and I will excuse much. But I must have plain answers to my questions, or I shall ask you nothing further."