You are at liberty to keep or destroy this new will as you choose.

Nor, if you keep it, are you bound to do anything towards finding your lost brother.
But should you desire to make inquiries, I am able to give you this feeble clue--that, after leaving home, he went to the bad in London in company with a companion named Fastnet, but where they lived I know not.
Also, that the rumour of his death came to me from India.

I can say no more, only that I am his and your loving father,-- "Roger Ingleton." Towards the end the writing became very weak and straggling, and what to the boy was the most important passage was well-nigh illegible.

When, after reading it a second time, he looked up, it was hard to believe he was the same Roger Ingleton who, a few minutes since, had broken the seal of that mysterious letter.

The tutor, lost in his music, played on; the sun still flashed on the distant sea, the park still stretched away below him--but all seemed part of another world to the heir of Maxfield.
His brother--that wild-eyed, fascinating, defiant boy in the picture-- lived still, and all this place was his.