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had only spoken the truth when he told Elizabeth that he might possibly be called back to England. The bankers had forwarded to him that morning a letter from his uncle, saying that he had a fit of the gout, and was once more a prisoner to the house. Mr. Twisden wrote that, if he was not better in the course of a few days, he must ask George to return, and take the remainder of his holiday later.

The young man had meditated for several days letting his uncle know some portion of the truth as regarded himself. The whole truth, in its naked ugliness, he had no intention of revealing. But the wisdom of the serpent was his. He saw that if he did not present the truth to Mr. Twisden becomingly draped, he ran the risk of a discovery, which would greatly shock the old man, and destroy his confidence in his nephew for ever. The moment had come when he must speak, or run this risk. The events of that morning decided him. He did not think that Lord Robert would betray his secret, but it might ooze out. It was imperative, therefore, in writing to his uncle, to apprise him of his position relative to two persons in whom Mr. Twisden, he knew, was interested.