Firstly, Martin questioned the boy closely as to the circumstances of his past life—­his relations with his father, his training, intellectual and religious, and his final resolve to escape, carried out by the help of Sir Richard and his family.  Next, he went on to ask the youth of his wishes concerning his future; and finding these as vague as might be expected from his vast inexperience, he smiled, and said that question could stand over for the present.  There was no difficulty about employing talent and energy in this city of London; and if his nephew developed capacity in any direction, it could doubtless be turned to good account.  Meantime he had better dwell beneath this roof, and accustom himself to new ways and new sights, after which they would talk of his future again.

Nothing could be more to Cuthbert’s mind than such a decision; but when he tried to express his gratitude, he was speedily silenced.

“Not a word, boy; not a word!  Thou art a near kinsman.  Thou hast had a hard life with thy father, and having claimed the protection of thy mother’s brother, shalt have it, and welcome.  But now to another matter.  How art thou off for money?  I trow by what thou sayest of thy father that he had little to give or spend.”

“He never gave me aught in his life save the poor clothes and food that were needful.  My uncle gave me a few gold pieces ere I left—­I mean my good cousin, Sir Richard.”

“Ay, boy, ay.  But I trow that thine own uncle can do better by thee than that.  Didst ever know that thy mother once looked to have a fortune of her own, albeit a modest one?”

Cuthbert shook his head, and Martin rose from his seat and disappeared from the room for a few minutes.  When he came back he had a coffer in his hands that seemed to be heavy.  He placed it on the table, and went on with his speech as though he had not been interrupted.

“Yes.  Our father was a man of substance, and he had but three children—­myself, Susan, and Bridget.  To me he willed his house, his business, and all the money locked up in that.  To Susan and Bridget he divided the savings of his lifetime that had not been used in enlarging the business.  There was two thousand pounds apiece for them when he died.”

Cuthbert’s eyes dilated with astonishment, but he said nothing, and his uncle continued speaking.

“You doubtless marvel why you have received none of this before.  I will tell you why.  When Bridget married a Papist, our father was in a great rage, and vowed she should never have a penny of his money.  He scratched her name out of his will, and bid us never speak her name again.  But as he lay a-dying, other thoughts came into his mind, and he was unhappy in this thing.  He bid me get together the two thousand pounds that had once been Bridget’s portion, and when I did so—­with some trouble at a short notice—­he counted it all over, and with his own hands locked it away