his
time, I have no doubt!"

No sooner had these sullen thoughts been uttered than he was startled at
them, and ashamed of himself. He struggled to regain a right feeling
toward the more fortunate man, and punished himself by determining to go
at once to Mr. Phillips' residence, and inquire in person for his son,
instead of returning to the store and sending a message, as he had at
first intended. A flushed-faced, swollen-eyed servant answered his ring,
and to his inquiry as to how Mr. Phillips was, answered:

"Well, sir, he's doing the best he can."

"Can I see him?" asked Theodore, wondering at the strangeness of the
answer.

"I guess so--or I'll see. Come in!" and she flung open the parlor door
and left him. In a few minutes the elder Mr. Phillips entered. He
recognized Theodore at once, though the two had met but once in their
lives. The look of unreconciled pain on his face settled into a sterner
form as he encountered Theodore, and he spoke with a marked
sternness--"Young man! were you with my son last night? Are you one of
those who helped lead him astray?"

"I thank God I am not!" answered Theodore, fervently, yet in gentle
tone. Even though he believed that the young man's father had been one
of the most potent influences in the ruin of his son, yet the present
was no time to have it appear.

"I called to see if I could in any way serve you, and to know if I might
see your son."

"Thank you--there is nothing more to do--but you can see him!" The voice
that uttered those hopeless words was husky with suppressed tears, and
yet, as he opened a door at his right, motioned Theodore forward, and
abruptly left the room, the sad and solemn truth had not so much as
glimmered on the young man's mind. Not until he had fairly entered and
nearly crossed the back parlor, were his feet arrested by the presence
of death. Even then he could not believe it possible that God had called
for the soul, and it had gone. He stood still and looked on the straight
motionless figure, covered with its drapery of white. He advanced and
looked reverently upon the face that only yesterday he had seen bubbling
with life and fun. The icy seal was surely there, the features had felt
that solemn, mysterious touch, and grown sharper and more clearly
defined under it. Nothing in his life had ever come to Theodore with
such sudden and fearful surprise. Pliny, then, was the one still
hovering this side, and the other gone. What an awful dea