uld
have driven his own son mad by robbing him of his plighted bride; but so
it was; he married his son's bride. I saw him lead her to the altar; if
ever there was an angelic countenance, it was that girl's; she was almost
too fair to be one of the daughters of women. Is there anything, boy,
that you would wish to ask me? now is the time."

"Yes, father; there is one about whom I would fain question you."

"Who is it? shall I tell you about Elliot?"

"No, father, not about Elliot; but pray don't be angry; I should like to
know something about Big Ben."

"You are a strange lad," said my father; "and, though of late I have
begun to entertain a more favourable opinion than heretofore, there is
still much about you that I do not understand. Why do you bring up that
name? Don't you know that it is one of my temptations? you wish to know
something about him. Well! I will oblige you this once, and then
farewell to such vanities--something about him. I will tell you--his
skin, when he flung off his clothes--and he had a particular knack in
doing so--his skin, when he bared his mighty chest and back for
combat--and when he fought he stood so . . . if I remember right--his
skin, I say, was brown and dusky as that of a toad. Oh me! I wish my
elder son was here."

CHAPTER XXVIII

My Brother's Arrival--The Interview--Night--A Dying Father--Christ.

At last my brother arrived; he looked pale and unwell; I met him at the
door. "You have been long absent," said I.

"Yes," said he, "perhaps too long; but how is my father?"

"Very poorly," said I, "he has had a fresh attack; but where have you
been of late?"

"Far and wide," said my brother; "but I can't tell you anything now, I
must go to my father. It was only by chance that I heard of his
illness."

"Stay a moment," said I. "Is the world such a fine place as you supposed
it to be before you went away?"

"Not quite," said my brother, "not quite; indeed I wish--but ask me no
questions now, I must hasten to my father."

There was another question on my tongue, but I forbore; for the eyes of
the young man were full of tears. I pointed with my finger, and the
young man hastened past me to the arms of his father.

I forbore to ask my brother whether he had been to old Rome.

What passed between my father and brother I do not know; the interview,
no doubt, was tender enough, for they tenderly loved each other; but my
brother's arrival did not produce t