At these words Mrs. Ruthven's face flushed angrily.

"St. John is taking too much upon his shoulders," she cried. "This is no business of his."

"I may be a n.o.body, but, but"--Jack stammered--"if he says anything to me, I am afraid there will be a row."

"He shall not say anything to you. I will speak to him about this. Leave it all to me."

"But he shall not insult me," said Jack st.u.r.dily.

Marion had left the apartment, to change her clothing, so she did not hear what was said about St. John. A few words more on the subject pa.s.sed between the lady of the plantation and the youth, and then the talk shifted back to Jack's past.

"Some day I am going to find out who I am." said the boy. "There must be some way to do this."

"Are you then so anxious to leave me, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, and the tears sprang into her eyes.

"No, no, mother; I will not leave you so long as you wish me to stay!"

he exclaimed. "It isn't that. But this mystery of the past must be solved."

"Well, I will help you all I can. But do not hope for too much, my boy, or you may be disappointed," and then she embraced him again.

Running up to his bedroom, Jack quickly changed the suit which had been soaked the night before for a better one, and then came below again. He hardly knew what to do with himself. The news had set his head in a whirl. At last he decided to go out riding on a pony Mrs. Ruthven had given him a few weeks before.

The pony was soon saddled by one of the stable hands, and Jack set off on a level road running between the two Ruthven plantations. At first he thought to ask Marion to accompany him, but then decided that he was in no humor to have anybody along.

"I must think this out by myself," was the way he reasoned, and set off at a brisk pace under the wide-spreading trees.

He was less than quarter of a mile away from home when he came face to face with St. John, who was returning from his visit to Old Ben's boathouse.

As the two riders approached each other, the young man glared darkly at our hero.

"Hullo, where are you bound?" he demanded sharply.

"I don't think that is any of your business, St. John," replied Jack, who was just then in no humor to be polite.

"Humph! you needn't get on your high horse about it!"

"I am not on a high horse, only on a small pony."

"Don't joke me, Jack--I don't like it."

"As you please, St. John."

"What's got into you this morning?" demanded the young man curiously.

"Well, if you want to know, I don't like the way you have been talking about me."

"Oho! so that is how the wind blows."

"You have taken the pains to call me a n.o.body," went on Jack hotly.

"I told the truth, didn't I?"

"I consider myself just as good as you, St. John Ruthven."

"Do you indeed!" sneered the spendthrift.

"I do indeed, and in the future I will thank you to be more careful of what you say about me."

"I have a right to tell the truth to anybody I please."

"I don't deny that. But I consider my blood just as good as yours."

"Do you? I don't."

"Your opinion isn't worth anything to me."

"Humph! still riding a high horse, I see. Let me tell you, you are not half as good as a Ruthven, and never will be. How my aunt could take you in is a mystery to me."

"She is not as hard-hearted as you are."

"She is very foolish."

"She is my foster mother, and I'll thank you to speak respectfully of her," cried Jack, his eyes flashing.

"Of course you'll stick by her--as long as she'll let you. You have a nice ax to grind."

"I don't understand your last words."

"She owns considerable property, and you will try to get a big share of it for yourself, when she dies."

"I have never given her property a thought. I want only what is rightfully coming to me."

"There is nothing coming to you by right. The property ought to go to Marion and the other Ruthvens."

"By other Ruthvens I suppose you mean yourself."

"I am one of them."

"Are you so anxious to get hold of my aunt's plantation?"

"I don't want to see my aunt waste it on such a low upstart as you!"

Jack's eyes flashed fire, and riding close to St. John he held up his little riding whip.

"You shan't call me an upstart!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Take it back, or I'll hit you with this!"

"You won't dare to touch me!" howled St. John in a rage. "You are an upstart, and worse, to my way of thinking."