〃I　have　no　wish　to　treat　you　otherwise　than　justly　and　kindly；〃
  answered　Mr。　Brock。　〃Do　me　justice　on　my　side；　and　believe　that　I
  am　incapable　of　cruelly　holding　you　responsible　for　your　father's
  crime。〃
  The　reply　seemed　to　compose　him。　He　bowed　his　head　in　silence；
  and　took　up　the　confession　from　the　table。
  〃Have　you　read　this　through？〃　he　asked；　quietly。
  〃Every　word　of　it；　from　first　to　last。〃
  〃Have　I　dealt　openly　with　you　so　far。　Has　Ozias　Midwinter〃
  〃Do　you　still　call　yourself　by　that　name；〃　interrupted　Mr。　Brock；
  〃now　your　true　name　is　known　to　me？〃
  〃Since　I　have　read　my　father's　confession；〃　was　the　answer；　〃I
  like　my　ugly　alias　better　than　ever。　Allow　me　to　repeat　the
  question　which　I　was　about　to　put　to　you　a　minute　since：　Has
  Ozias　Midwinter　done　his　best　thus　far　to　enlighten　Mr。　Brock？〃
  The　rector　evaded　a　direct　reply。　〃Few　men　in　your　position；〃　he
  said；　〃would　have　had　the　courage　to　show　me　that　letter。〃
  〃Don't　be　too　sure；　sir；　of　the　vagabond　you　picked　up　at　the　inn
  till　you　know　a　little　more　of　him　than　you　know　now。　You　have
  got　the　secret　of　my　birth；　but　you　are　not　in　possession　yet　of
  the　story　of　my　life。　You　ought　to　know　it；　and　you　shall　know
  it；　before　you　leave　me　alone　with　Mr。　Armadale。　Will　you　wait；
  and　rest　a　little　while；　or　shall　I　tell　it　you　now？〃
  〃Now；〃　said　Mr。　Brock；　still　as　far　away　as　ever　from　knowing　the
  real　character　of　the　man　before　him。
  Everything　Ozias　Midwinter　said；　everything　Ozias　Midwinter　did；
  was　against　him。　He　had　spoken　with　a　sardonic　indifference；
  almost　with　an　insolence　of　tone；　which　would　have　repelled　the
  sympathies　of　any　man　who　heard　him。　And　now；　instead　of　placing
  himself　at　the　table；　and　addressing　his　story　directly　to　the
  rector；　he　withdrew　silently　and　ungraciously　to　the　window…seat。
  There　he　sat；　his　face　averted；　his　hands　mechanically　turning
  the　leaves　of　his　father's　letter　till　he　came　to　the　last。　With
  his　eyes　fixed　on　the　closing　lines　of　the　manuscript；　and　with　a
  strange　mixture　of　recklessness　and　sadness　in　his　voice；　he
  began　his　promised　narrative　in　these　words：
  〃The　first　thing　you　know　of　me；〃　he　said；　〃is　what　my　father's
  confession　has　told　you　already。　He　mentions　here　that　I　was　a
  child；　asleep　on　his　breast；　when　he　spoke　his　last　words　in　this
  world；　and　when　a　stranger's　hand　wrote　them　down　for　him　at　his
  deathbed。　That　stranger's　name；　as　you　may　have　noticed；　is
  signed　on　the　cover'Alexander　Neal；　Writer　to　the　Signet；
  Edinburgh。'　The　first　recollection　I　have　is　of　Alexander　Neal
  beating　me　with　a　horsewhip　（I　dare　say　I　deserved　it）；　in　the
  character　of　my　stepfather。〃
  〃Have　you　no　recollection　of　your　mother　at　the　same　time？〃　asked
  Mr。　Brock。
  〃Yes；　I　remember　her　having　shabby　old　clothes　made　up　to　fit　me；
  and　having　fine　new　frocks　bought　for　her　two　children　by　her
  second　husband。　I　remember　the　servants　laughing　at　me　in　my　old
  things；　and　the　horsewhip　finding　its　way　to　my　shoulders　again
  for　losing　my　temper　and　tearing　my　shabby　clothes。　My　next
  recollection　gets　on　to　a　year　or　two　later。　I　remember　myself
  locked　up　in　a　lumber…room；　with　a　bit　of　bread　and　a　mug　of
  water；　wondering　what　it　was　that　made　my　mother　and　my
  stepfather　seem　to　hate　the　very　sight　of　me。　I　never　settled
  that　question　till　yesterday；　and　then　I　solved　the　mystery；　when
  my　father's　letter　was　put　into　my　hands。　My　mother　knew　what　had
  really　happened　on　board　the　French　timber…ship；　and　my
  stepfather　knew　what　had　really　happened；　and　they　were　both　well
  aware　that　the　shameful　secret　which　they　would　fain　have　kept
  from　every　living　creature　was　a　secret　which　would　be　one　day
  revealed　to　_me。_　There　was　no　help　for　itthe　confession　was　in
  the　executor's　hands；　and　there　was　I；　an　ill…conditioned　brat；
  with　my　mother's　negro　blood　in　my　face；　and　my　murdering
  father's　passions　in　my　heart；　inheritor　of　their　secret　in　spite
  of　them！　I　don't　wonder　at　the　horsewhip　now；　or　the　shabby　old
  clothes；　or　the　bread　and　water　in　the　lumber…room。　Natural
  penalties　all　of　them；　sir；　which　the　child　was　beginning　to　pay
  already　for　the　father's　sin。〃
  Mr。　Brock　looked　at　the　swarthy；　secret　face；　still　obstinately
  turned　away　from　him。　〃Is　this　the　stark　insensibility　of　a
  vagabond；〃　he　asked　himself；　〃or　the　despair；　in　disguise；　of　a
  miserable　man？〃
  〃School　is　my　next　recollection；〃　the　other　went　on〃a　cheap
  place　in　a　lost　corner　of　Scotland。　I　was　left　there；　with　a　bad
  character　to　help　me　at　starting。　I　spare　you　the　story　of　the
  master's　cane　in　the　schoolroom；　and　the　boys'　kicks　in　the
  playground。　I　dare　say　there　was　ingrained　ingratitude　in　my
  nature；　at　any　rate；　I　ran　away。　The　first　person　who　met　me
  asked　my　name。　I　was　too　young　and　too　foolish　to　know　the
  importance　of　concealing　it；　and；　as　a　matter　of　course；　I　was
  taken　back　to　school　the　same　evening。　The　result　taught　me　a
  lesson　which　I　have　not　forgotten　since。　In　a　day　or　two　more；
  like　the　vagabond　I　was；　I　ran　away　for　the　second　time。　The
  school　watch…dog　had　had　his　instructions；　I　suppose：　he　stopped
  me　before　I　got　outside　the　gate。　Here　is　his　mark；　among　the
  rest；　on　the　back　of　my　hand。　His　master's　marks　I　can't　show
  you；　they　are　all　on　my　back。　Can　you　believe　in　my　perversity？
  There　was　a　devil　in　me　that　no　dog
  could　worry　out。　I　ran　away　again　as　soon　as　I　left　my　bed；　and
  this　time　I　got　off。　At　nightfall　I　found　myself　（with　a
  pocketful　of　the　school　oatmeal）　lost　on　a　moor。　I　lay　down　on
  the　fine　soft　heather；　under　the　lee　of　a　great　gray　rock。　Do　you
  think　I　felt　lonely？　Not　I！　I　was　away　from　the　master's　cane；
  away　from　my　schoolfellows'　kicks；　away　from　my　mother；　away　from
  my　stepfather；　and　I　lay　down　that　night　under　my　good　friend　the
  rock；　the　happiest　boy　in　all　Scotland！〃
  Through　the　wretched　childhood　which　that　one　significant
  circumstance　disclosed；　Mr。　Brock　began　to　see　dimly　how　little
  was　really　strange；　how　little　really　unaccountable；　in　the
  character　of　the　man　who　was　now　speaking　to　him。
  〃I　slept　soundly；〃　Midwinter　continued；　〃under　my　friend　the
  rock。　When　I　woke　in　the　morning；　I　found　a　sturdy　old　man　with　a
  fiddle　sitting　on　one　side　of　me；　and　two　performing　dogs　on　the
  other。　Experience　had　made　me　too　sharp　to　tell　the　truth　when
  the　man　put　his　first　questions。　He　didn't　press　them；　he　gave　me
  a　good　breakfast　out　of　his　knapsack；　and　he　let　me　romp　with　the
  dogs。　'I'll　tell　you　what；'　he　said；　when　he　had　got　my
  confidence　in　this　manner；　'you　want　three　things；　my　man：　you
  want　a　new　father；　a　new　family；　and　a　new　name。　I'll　be　your
  father。　I'll　let　you　have　the　dogs　for　your　brothers；　and；　if
  you'll　promise　to　be　very　careful　of　it；　I'll　give　you　my　own
  name　into　the　bargain。　Ozias　Midwinter；　Junior；　you　have　had　a
  good　breakfast；　if　you　want　a　good　dinner；　come　along　with　me！'
  He　got　up；　the　dogs　trotted　after　him；　and　I　trotted　after　the
  dogs。　Who　was　my　new　father？　you　will　ask。　A　half…breed　gypsy；
  sir；　a　drunkard；　a　ruffian；　and　a　thiefand　the　best　friend　I
  ever　had！　Isn't　a　man　your　friend　who　gives　you　your　food；　your
  shelter；　and　your　education？　Ozias　Midwinter　taught　me　to　dance
  the　Highland　fling；　to　throw　somersaults；　to　walk　on　stilts；　and
  to　sing　songs　to　his　fiddle。　Sometimes　we　roamed　the　country；　and
  performed　at　fairs。　Sometimes　we　tried　the　large　towns；　and
  enlivened　bad　company　over　its　cups。　I　was　a　nice；　lively　little
  boy　of　eleven　years　old；　and　bad　company；　the　women　especially；
  took　a　fancy　to　me　and　my　nimble　feet。　I　was　vagabond　enough　to
  like　the　life。　The　dogs　and　I　lived　together；　ate；　and　drank；　and
  slept　together。　I　can't　think　of　those　poor　little　four…footed
  brothers　of　mine；　even　now；　without　a　choking　in　the　throat。　Many
  is　the　beating　we　three　took　together；　many　is　the　hard　day's
  dancing　we　did　together；　many　is　the　night　we　have　slept
  together；　and　whimpered　together；　on　the　cold　hill…side。　I'm　not
  trying　to　distress　you；　sir；　I'm　only　telling　you　the　truth。　The
  life　with　all　its　hardships　was　a　life　that　fitted　me；　and　the
  half…breed　gypsy　who　gave　me　his　name；　ruffian　as　he　was；　was　a
  ruffian　I　liked。〃
  〃A　man　who　beat　you！〃　exclaimed　Mr。　Brock；　in　astonishment。
  〃Didn't　I　tell　you　just　now；　sir；　that　I　lived　with　the　dogs？　and
  did　you　ever　hear　of　a　dog　who　liked　his　master　the　worse　for
  beating　him？　Hundreds　of　thousands　of　miserable　men；　women；　and
  children　would　have　liked　that　man　（as　I　liked　him）　if　he　had
  always　given　them　what　he　always　gave　meplenty　to　eat。　It　was
  stolen　food　mostly；　and　my　new　gypsy　father　was　generous　with　it。
  He　seldom　laid　the　stick　on　us　when　he　was　sober；　but　it　diverted
  him　to　hear　us　yelp　when　he　was　drunk。　He　died　drunk；　and　enjoyed
  his　favorite　amusement　with　his　last　breath。　One　day　（when　I　had
  been　two　years　in　his　service）；　after　giving　us　a　good　dinner　out
  on　the　moor；　he　sat　down　with　his　back　against　a　stone；　and
  called　us　up　to　divert　himself　with　his　stick。　He　made　the　dogs
  yelp　first；　and　then　he　called　to　me。　I　didn't　go　very　willingly；
  he　had　been　drinking　harder　than　usual；　and　the　more　he　drank　the
  better　he　liked　his　after…dinner　amusement。　He　was