"The young cornet started from his chair as if he had been shot.

"'Sell my commission!' he cried; 'go to India! You don't mean it, Uncle
Hugh; surely you don't mean it. Father, you will never compel me to do
this.'

"Percival Dunbar had never looked at his son since the young man had
entered the room. He sat with his elbow resting upon the arm of his
easy-chair, and his face shaded by his hand, and had not once spoken.

"He did not speak now, even when his son appealed to him.

"'Your father has given me full authority to act in this business,' Mr.
Hugh Dunbar said. 'I shall never marry, Henry, and you are my only
nephew, and my acknowledged heir. But I will never leave my wealth to a
dishonest or dishonourable man, and it remains for you to prove whether
you are worthy to inherit it. You will have to begin life afresh. You
have played the man of fashion, and your aristocratic associates have
led you to the position in which you find yourself to-day. You must turn
your back upon the past, Henry. Of course you are free to choose for
yourself. Sell your commission, go to India, and enter the
counting-house of our establishment in Calcutta as a junior clerk; or
refuse to do so, and renounce all hope of succeeding to my fortune or to
your father's.'

"The young man was silent for some minutes, then he said, sullenly
enough--

"'I will go. I consider that I have been harshly treated; but I will
go.'"