It is often to be found, that men of strongest and least regulated passions, calculating, cautious, as may be the nature of their general character, are the most easily rendered subserviant to any influence or weakness to which they in the first instance, have capriciously chosen to lay themselves open.

Thus it was with Mr. Trevor. His unjust partiality towards his youngest son turned against him, so far, that the latter gradually gained an ascendency over his father's mind, for we cannot exactly call it his affections, which no one, not even the favourite Marryott, had ever been known to attain in so extended a measure, and effect. To Eugene Trevor's credit, it may at least be said, that he was not one, so far as his outward conduct and demeanour were concerned, to abuse such a position; on the contrary, he was rather disposed to conciliate the continuance of it, by every seeming mark of gratitude, and duty, never, however, neglecting in any direct, or indirect way to turn to advantage the propitious circumstances of his case.

This habit had long engendered that peculiar respectfulness of manner and demeanour, which we had occasion to remark so undeviatingly maintained by the son, towards the miserly parent.

But perhaps a bond of union had then been established between the father and son, of a more subtle and secret character, than any were aware; the consciousness on the parent's part, of having pardoned and covered in the son, more than he had any right ever to have so covered or forgiven; the son subdued in some measure to grateful subjection towards that parent, from the consciousness of what had by him been concealed, and overlooked; a bond of union, the more strengthened and annealed as years wore on, and showed the harmony of character and propensity, however differently they might as yet be shown forth, which subsisted between them.

Alas! when evil, not good cements the union of man with man—when hand joins hand, for deeds or purposes of darkness—especially when by such unholy links are seen connected, parent with child—child with parent! However, all this might be—there was certainly a suspicious cloak over one era of Eugene Trevor's early history, under which no member of his family save his father ever penetrated.

We allude to a period, two years perhaps after the event, which has lately been brought forward, when he was suddenly removed from the business in which he had for a period held a kind of sinacure office; and ever afterwards was tacitly suffered by his father to live at large, either at home or abroad, following no other profession or pursuit, but those pleasures and practices, to which he was but too strongly addicted.

There is then good reason to suppose that the liberality of his father on the occasion we have quoted, did not put a stop to further losses and embarrassments of the same nature on Eugene's part; and one dark instance will prove at least, to what extremity he was once driven, at the same time as it exemplified the little confidence he was disposed as yet to place, in the kindness and long suffering of a parent, whose character and disposition he had too much acute insight and observation not to be perfectly able to appreciate. He knew that in his father's breast existed a passion wherein neither reason, nor benevolence, nor natural affection, nor any other faculty had in other cases the least influence—whilst in his own breast could he have analyzed its propensities with equal exactness, he might have read the love, and aspiring after the attainment of the same unrighteous mammon, as deep, and vehement, in its development, though as yet subservient in a degree, to other feelings—the slave—not as yet the master spirit of other appetites and propensities. And alas! in the instance we are about to record—how strongly is it proved that a great activity of this passion, if the moral qualities of the mind be low—if there exist no honest or honourable means, or a desire to pursue those means by which it can be gratified—dishonesty, dishonour, every dark and crooked way and means, may be the fearful consequences.

There came another evening when Eugene Trevor returned clandestinely to Montrevor, without, as on former occasions, seeking to make his arrival known to any member of the establishment. But Mr. Trevor was not long in being apprized by Marryott, that his youngest son had some hours since entered the house, and had gone straight to his bed-room, from which he had not since made his appearance, and she wished to know whether she had not better go and see what was the matter?

Perhaps Mr. Trevor had his misgivings as to something being in the wind in that quarter, which it were as well that he might see to in propria persona, therefore, he told Marryott that he would go up stairs himself, and find out what the boy was about.

He accordingly proceeded to that distant part of the mansion, which contained the sordid rooms, allotted from their boyhood, to the sons of the family, and entered the one appropriated to Eugene's use.

Mr. Trevor's stealthy entrance enabled him to stand some minutes without notice, for the young man was seated with his back to the door, leaning over a table, seemingly in the anxious examination of a small bundle of papers he held in his hand, and on which the keen eye of the observer fixed itself with suspicious surprize, for they were evidently bank notes.

Suddenly the father made a cautious movement forward—something had caught his eye. It was one of these same papers, which the draught from the open window had probably, unperceived by the owner, wafted from the table to the ground, just behind the young man's chair.

The father stooped; and having clutched it in his grasping hand, curiously scanned his prize; yes, it was to all appearance one of those precious things, after which his soul lusted—a monied note—a note for £20 on the London Bank in which he had so great concern.

But how was this? His hand trembled as he held it for stricter examination further from his eyes. Perhaps his heart misgave him from the first. How had the boy become possessed of all this money?

Ah! a new light flashed upon him, and he became deadly pale.

That well practised vision, that sharp witted perception was not to be deceived. The astounding, stunning truth miraculously flashed upon his senses, that the paper he held within his grasp was no true genuine bank-note on the firm of Maynard, Trevor and Co., but that it was forged.

One moment after, and Eugene Trevor felt a sharp nervous grasp laid upon his arm. He started violently, and the terrified ashy countenance he turned towards his father, would at once have convicted him in the eye of the beholder of any capital offence of which he might have been suspected.

"Wretched boy, what have you done?" gasped the father, as with one hand maintaining his hold on the culprit's arm, with the other he held the accusing note before his shrinking eye, glaring at the same time fearfully upon him. "This—this—" in accents tremulous between rage and horror, "I know, I feel convinced, is forged!"

The son sat pale and trembling, but attempted not a word of explanation or denial.

"And the others—the same?"

They were passively yielded for inspection. All—all—alike!

"Do you wished to be hanged, Sir?" almost shrieked the father.

"I must have money—those might have passed for such."

"Might?—yes, and you might, I say, be hanged."

"Well, if I were hanged, what then? Life's not worth having without money," was the dark and moody rejoinder.

"And why should you ever be in want of money?" Mr. Trevor replied in a low, trembling voice.

"Why? why—when I see how you serve Eustace."

"Eustace!" in a tone of impatient scorn; "what's Eustace to do with you?"

"Or if I could be content to live the life that Harry leads," was the sullen continuation, "I might perhaps do very well; but as I have in some degree tastes and inclinations beyond those of a groom or a jockey, I must have money somehow or another, for accidental emergencies like the present. There was nothing left for me but this," pointing to the notes, "or to blow my brains out, to which alternative I suppose I have now arrived."

"Tut, tut—nonsense!" replied the agitated father; "why did you not come to me?"

"You?—why, after that thousand pounds you gave me, I could not expect you'd supply me with all I want now."

"And who—who," continued Mr. Trevor, still livid with horror and dismay at the dreadful risk his son had run, rather than at the crime he had perpetuated; "who, in the name of Heaven, was your abettor in this preposterous scheme?"

Eugene Trevor, after a little hesitation, named his accomplice—of course, an attachÉ of the Bank in question—a young man of low birth and principles, with whom Eugene Trevor had formed this dreadful confederacy, and who was subsequently removed from the bank by the connivance of Mr. Trevor, about the same time, as his young patron was, as we have before mentioned, mysteriously taken from the business.

"None of these notes have yet been circulated," the father inquired in terrified anxiety.

"No; not yet. I brought them down here, and Wilson was to follow, as you gave me leave to ask him; and then I was to consider over with him the best way of proceeding."

Mr. Trevor mused for a moment; then gathering up the notes in his long, thin fingers, carefully, nay, even delicately, as if he could not away with some sentiment of tender respect even for that which only bore the semblance of his heart's idol; he bade his son, in a low hoarse tone, to get up, and follow him down stairs.

Eugene mechanically obeyed; and his father stealthily preceded him back to his library, the door of which they having both entered, he carefully closed and bolted.

Eugene sank upon a chair, with blanched cheeks, and trembling in every limb. He had not tasted food all day; but, more than this, the act of moving from one room to the other had probably roused his mental powers, and his not yet quite depraved or hardened heart became more sensible to the horrors of the risk, and the enormity of the crime from which he had been providentially rescued.

His father, seeing the condition his son was in, produced a small flask he kept near him for his private use in cases of emergency (he never, generally speaking, partook of wine or spirits), and poured him out a sparing quantity.

The son looked at the glass contemptuously, swallowed its contents; then seized the bottle his father had incautiously left within his reach, emptied it of at least half of the remainder, and drank it clean off.

Mr. Trevor, in the meantime, had turned away, to enter upon the business in hand. Holding the dangerous papers still clutched fearfully in his grasp, he looked around to determine how most securely to dispose of them.

It would have been easy to have committed them at once to the flames, if any such means of destruction had been provided; and thus every memento of his son's guilt might have perished for ever; but though a chilly April evening, no fire at such an advanced period was suffered to burn upon the miser's cheerless hearth. So he looked from that hopeless quarter for some other resource; and going to his escritoire, unlocked it, and in one of its most secret recesses deposited those deeds of intended wrong, destined to afford long, long after their very existence was forgotten, a striking example of the fact, that sin, however at the time covered or concealed, seldom fails to bear forth some fruit of woe, be it to ourselves or others, in future years.

Mr. Trevor then proceeded to open another drawer, and glancing towards his son, carefully selected some bank-notes therefrom, brought them to Eugene, and thrust them hastily into his hand, as if he feared the impulse might have evaporated ere the act was accomplished. They were the exact number of those he had counted of the forged notes.

The young man looked on them at first with a bewildered and uncertain gaze; then, overcome probably by the reaction of feeling, burst forth into a paroxysm of tears, with which he covered his father's hand, as he gave vent to a torrent of thanks and deprecations against such undeserved generosity.

The aged man—for even then, though scarce past sixty, Mr. Trevor from appearance might have been so denominated—that old, old heart having long imparted the influence of years to his character and demeanour, he seemed by this fervent recognition of his unjust—indeed, under the circumstances of the case—iniquitous indulgence, to be spurred on to an effusion of warmth towards his favourite, almost monomaniacal in its extent. Again he seized his keys, and, one after another, threw open wide chest after chest, drawer after drawer of his spacious treasures; showing, with layers of notes to a great amount, heaps of shining gold—the gathered hoards of years; with which, besides the enormous deposits with which the bank of Maynard and Co. was enriched, this "exceeding rich man" kept to feast his eyes and delight his heart with their sensible and tangible presence.

"There boy—there," he exclaimed, observing with a kind of exulting gratification the impression this display made upon the young man's countenance—how his eye kindled, and his breath came short and quick, as if with the covetous delight which found such sympathy in his own breast, "is not that worth living for, think ye.... Well, well, never forget again, nor waste and want, as you have lately begun to do; but wait, and watch, and learn to do like me, and who knows but some day or another...."

He paused, and glanced significantly from his coffers to his son, from his son to his coffers.

"Harry will be a lucky fellow," murmured Eugene, averting his countenance, over which, at those words, a brightening gleam had passed.

"Pooh, that fool!"

"That fool, Sir, is your eldest son for all that," laughed the other.

"And if he is, what's that? it's my own, all that.... Besides," lowering his voice, "mark me, he'll break his neck some of these days."

"Not he, Harry's too good a rider for that; and you know a fool is sure to live for ever; but even if he died, there's Eustace."

"Eustace—curse him!" was the fatherly ejaculation.

Even the calculating brother now looked a little shocked, and when just at that moment there came a gentle knock at the door, both started, like guilty creatures as they were. But the old man glancing at his coffers with nervous alarm, hurriedly bade his son to wait, shutting them up, and making them fast with hurried trepidation ere the inopportune intruder was admitted. It proved to be only Marryott, who presented herself with a smooth and unsuspecting countenance, to ask whether Mr. Eugene would not come and partake of the supper she had provided for him in her own room. And Eugene, though at first about to profess himself not hungry, on second thoughts, and a glance from his father, changed his mind, shook hands affectionately with his foster-mother, and consented to avail himself of her considerate attentions.

A change had come over the young man's dream; a new vista opened before his eyes; Satan had showed him the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them; he must bow the knee and worship.