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That he was an object of suspicion to any one was the last thing that could have entered Ivor's mind. He went briskly on, drinking in the stimulating ozone and feasting his eyes on the shifting scenes of the busy street. He reached the Neva and turned to the left along the Court Quay. The frozen river with its procession of dashing sleighs seemed to have little attraction for him. His eyes rested on the long line of ducal palaces and private mansions that faced the embankment. Presently he stopped before one of the latter — a massive building of rose granite that bore the unmistakable impress of wealth and aristocracy.

It was not without emotion that he gazed on the house before him. It was his birthplace, and here the first six years of his life had been spent. A flood of childish memories surged over him, and the place assumed a familiar aspect.

He ascended the broad flight of steps and passed the stone lions that guarded the balustrade. As he placed his hand on the bell the little man who had been following him crossed the street and rested his shoulders on the parapet of the embankment.

The door opened noiselessly; and Ivor was confronted by a servant in livery who ushered him into a spacious hall furnished with the utmost magnificence. Ivor produced a card and requested to see Alexis Petrov.

The servant looked surprised and then perplexed. Motioning Ivor to a seat he placed the card on a salver and disappeared. A moment or two later a tall, broad shouldered man wrapped in a crimson dressing gown rushed into the hall from a side door. His face beamed with delight, and catching Ivor around the neck he planted a fervent kiss on each cheek. Then he stood at a little distance and surveyed his visitor.

"My dear nephew!" he cried, "can it really be you? Ah! how you have grown. I rejoice to see you again."

"It is a pleasant meeting to me, I assure you," said Ivor huskily. "You are my uncle Maximy, then — the devoted friend of my mother? And my father, is he well?"

The light faded from Maximy Petrov's face and his expression became sorrowful.

"Are you ignorant of what has occurred?" he asked. "My dear brother died three years ago."

"Dead!'" gasped Ivor. "And I knew nothing of it!" He turned very pale and sank down on a chair.

A sneering smile flitted across Maximy Petrov's face, but with apparent sympathy he induced his nephew to rise and led him into an adjoining apartment fitted in modern style. Book cases lined the walls and the floor was strewn with soft rugs. A massive oak table held writing materials and two wax candles. Maximy sat down at this and motioned Ivor to a seat close beside him.

I am surprised that you knew nothing of your father's death," he said. "You were notified, of course."

"The letter was never received," replied Ivor.

"Then it must have gone astray. But tell me, how is your, mother? Did she come to Russia with you?"

"My mother died four months ago," said Ivor sadly. "I did not write at the time, as I probably should have done. My plans were already arranged for coming to Russia."

"Your mother dead! "exclaimed Maximy. "Ah ! How sorry I am to hear that. The time has come when, I need no longer conceal my feelings. I loved her once — with a deeper love than my brother ever knew."

"She often told me so," said Ivor. " She was grateful to you to the very last. At one time she confided to me that her life would probably have been far happier had she married you."

"That is true," said Maximy. "But the past cannot be undone. I did for her what I could."

He was silent for a moment, and then he suddenly threw one arm about Ivor.

"Cheer up, my boy," he added. "Come, let me tell you about those early days of which you can have no recollection. I first knew your mother in the summer of 1862. She was a charming young girl then, and her father, Colonel Halliday, was connected with the American legation. I fell madly in love with her, and so did my brother Alexis. My father had left me but a meager allowance at his death, while Alexis was wealthy. I don't think that fact had any influence with Mary Halliday. She cared nothing for me; she married Alexis because she loved him. It was a bitter blow, but I resolved then to be her friend for life. Poor girl! Her sorrows came quickly enough. Just after you were born in 1864 her father died. Her mother, as you know, had been dead some years. Then came deeper troubles. Your mother had many rejected suitors, and some of these out of revenge persistently poisoned my brother's mind against his wife. Alexis had a violent and jealous disposition, and was only too willing to believe what he heard. I reasoned with him in vain. I tried to hunt down the calumniators, but with no better success. Alexis treated your mother like a brute. Until you were six years old she endured her sufferings patiently. Then came the crowning insult, and she resolved to leave Russia. I tried to dissuade her, but when she was not to be moved I aided her to flee secretly, and she reached America safely with you. My brother never forgave me for my part in the affair, and I am sorry to say that his heart remained hardened to the last against you and your mother. Often I besought him to relent, but he would not listen to me —

"Wait a moment," interrupted Ivor. "You say that my father never repented of his brutality. That is strange — very strange."

"What do you mean?" inquired Maximy, fixing his eyes searchingly upon his nephew.

"I will come to that presently," replied Ivor. "For the past twenty years my mother and I have been living in New York, under her maiden name of Halliday. An income which had previously been secured to her by her father sufficed for our needs. I was well educated, and have been practicing law for three years. During those twenty years my mother was always reluctant to speak of her earlier life, but I inferred from what little she told me that she could never be induced to forgive my father. Four months ago she was seized with a fatal illness, and a day or two before she died she called me to her and gave me this letter."

Ivor paused and drew a faded envelope from his pocket.

"This was written by my father," he resumed, "and it bears date April 3, 1887.

"Three days before his death," muttered Maximy, half to himself. "Can it be possible?"

"You shall see the letter," said Ivor. "It is brief, but very earnest. Shall I read it aloud?"

Maximy nodded assent, and taking a sheet of paper from the envelope Ivor began:

ST. PETERSBURG, APRIL 3, 1887.

MY DEAR MARY:

Seventeen years have passed since we parted. I write to you now in a spirit of remorse and repentance. I have learned within a day or two that my suspicions were unfounded, and that some one, who shall be nameless, was the author of all the lies that reached my ears. I am glad to have discovered this in time for a partial reparation. With the knowledge of my sins heavy upon me I dare not ask for forgiveness of you. But all that I have will belong to you and to my son. I have made and signed a will to that effect. My son! How the word thrills me! I fear that he has been taught to hate me, and I can blame neither you nor him. Will you soften your heart sufficiently to answer this letter, and will you bid me hope that some day I shall see my boy? I write this from a sick bed — a trifling complaint, I think — and for reasons which I cannot explain, I must make haste to close.

Believe me.

Your repentant husband,

ALEXIS PETROV

Ivor's hand trembled as he laid the letter down. "Does that look as though my father's heart remained hardened?" he asked.

Maximy Petrov did not reply. His eyes were staring vacantly across the room, and the color had left his lips and cheeks.

Ivor was too much agitated himself to observe his uncle's confusion.

"My mother's heart was so hardened," he resumed, "that she could not forgive my father even on the receipt of his letter. On her death bed she repented and told me of this. She supposed that my father was still alive, and she exacted from me a solemn promise that I would go to Russia and assure him of her forgiveness. It was her wish, also, that I should make my home here. Naturally this mission was distasteful, but my promise left me no alternative. I am glad that I obeyed her, though I am deeply sorry that her forgiveness came too late."

By this time Maximy Petrov had regained his self possession. He took the letter from Ivor and read it closely.

"Yes, this is indeed my poor brother's handwriting," he remarked. "It was written only three days before his death. His illness was at first slight, but it suddenly assumed a malignant form and carried him off. It was my belief until now that he had gone to his grave with a hardened heart. I am very glad that it was otherwise. The thought of death, perhaps, caused him to repent."

"It was not the thought of death," said Ivor gravely. "It was the discovery of the vile plot that was woven against him and my mother."

"True," assented Maximy, "he says that in the letter. Oh, why did he carry the secret with him to the grave? Did your mother suspect any particular person?"

"No," replied Ivor. "It was a deep mystery to her. She had no idea who the guilty one could be."

Maximy breathed a sigh of relief and shifted his eyes uneasily to the floor.

There was a momentary pause, and then Ivor said confusedly; "I want you to understand that I did not come to Russia from any pecuniary motive. If my father has been dead for three years, however, it is strange that we should have remained ignorant so long."

He paused, feeling that he had not made himself understood as he intended.

"You were notified at the time my brother died," replied Maximy, "but you say the letter never reached you. No more than that could have been expected of me."

"No more than that?" queried Ivor in a wondering tone.

Maximy shifted his position and began to twirl the ends of his yellow mustache. "The fact is," he said, "that no such will as my brother mentions was ever found. After his death his family solicitor, Feodor Gunsberg, produced a will dated ten years ago, in which I was named sole heir."

Ivor looked steadfastly at his uncle, and as he noted his confused manner, and the uneasy expression of his eyes, a conviction flashed upon him that something was wrong. A moment before he would probably have refused his father's fortune had it been offered to him, but now that he believed in the existence of treachery and an intent to defraud him of his rights, his fiery young blood rose up in indignation. He even forgot that the man before him had been his mother's friend.

For an instant neither spoke. Each glanced furtively at the other, trying to anticipate the next move.

"In the face of that letter what you tell me is a great surprise," said Ivor finally.

"Of course it is," exclaimed Maximy, "and to me as well as you. If another will exists it shall be found. The house shall be thoroughly searched. It is strange that Gunsberg should know nothing of it, however. He alone transacted my brother's business."

"Who is this Gunsberg?" asked Ivor, "I suppose he is thoroughly reliable, like all old family solicitors."

The covert sneer in this remark was induced by the heat of suspicion, and Ivor regretted it instantly. It was the most unwise thing he could have said. It denoted an aggressive attitude on Ivor's part — an intention to investigate the affair; and his uncle was quick to understand this, and just as quick to decide mentally on his nephew's fate.

An! angry flush passed over his face, and then he remarked quietly, "No one in Petersburg will question Feodor Gunsberg's probity. From the practice of law he has risen to a high position under the Czar. He will aid us in searching for the will, and I sincerely hope it may be found. I have no desire to keep what does not belong to me. In case the search is successful I suppose you have legal evidence to prove your identity?"

"Oh yes," replied Ivor, "I have my mother's marriage certificate and other papers."

"Have you them with you?"

"No, they are at the hotel. I did not expect to need them."

"Of course not,'' replied Maximy. "I am speaking only of a legal contingency. I myself am, of course, satisfied of your identity. And now, my dear nephew," he added in a tone of hearty geniality, "I must insist that you leave the hotel, and come here — to your rightful home. This is a strange and puzzling affair with which we have to deal, but we shall get to the bottom of it, I assure you. I am firmly convinced that the will of which my brother speaks does exist. Naturally no close search was made, since Feodor Gunsberg produced the other will, but that error shall be rectified at once. Whether the missing document is found or not, you shall have your rights. This is your home, and everything I have is equally yours. My dead brother's wishes shall not be disregarded. I respect you because you are my kinsman, and I love you because you are your mother's son."

He held out his hand, and Ivor, completely disarmed by these frank words, clasped it warmly.

"There, we understand each other now," added Maximy Petrov. "If you will excuse me for a brief moment I will cancel an engagement previously made, and we will dine together tonight. Then you can return to your hotel and pack up your luggage. I will send a servant for it."

"You are very kind," said Ivor; "and it would be ungrateful of me not to accept. I beg you to forget my rash words. I hardly knew what I was saying. By the way, I remember hearing my mother speak in kindly terms of father's constant attendant. Could he have any knowledge of this will — if he be still alive?"

"Ah! You mean Nicholas. No; he knew nothing. I am sorry to tell you that he met with a sad fate. After my brother's death he became connected with the Nihilists. He was arrested, and is now serving a life sentence in Siberia." >

"A sad fate, indeed," said Ivor.

"Yes, but a common one in Russia," replied his uncle. "Excuse me an instant now, and I will attend to this little matter."

Drawing his chair close to the table, he seized pen and paper and began to write. His hand moved rapidly and without hesitation, but his brow was moist with perspiration when he laid down the pen and placed the letter in an envelope.