you know I have but done my duty. I
would not harm you, nor see you harmed. It is to defend you against
yourself that I hold the club from you. You may, indeed, hurt my body,
which is old, and not worth much, but you will hurt your own soul a
thousand, thousand times more. Oh, my God!" prayed the old man, raising
his streaming eyes to heaven, "have mercy upon this my poor erring
brother!"

Mark's hand dropped from the old man's shoulder. The flame in his eyes
began to flicker. His lips quivered, and his face became pale. Father
Brighthopes continued to pour out the overflowing waters of his heart,
to quench the fire of passion. At length Mark's eyes fell, and he
staggered backward. Then the old man took his hand, and put the club
into it.

"Our minute is up. Here is the weapon," said he. "Use it as you will."

The club dropped upon the ground.

"Take it, and kill me with it!" muttered Mark. "I am not fit to live."

He sat down upon an overturned trough, and covered his face with his
hands, gnashing his teeth.

"Are you fit to die?" asked the old man, sitting down by his side.
"Would you enter the tomb through a boiling gulf of passion?"

Mark started up.

"Ches is to blame!" he said, with an oath. "He provoked me, when I was
mad from losing my colt's eye."

"Be calm, my friend. Sit down," replied the clergyman. "If Chester has
done wrong, he will acknowledge it."

"I spoke what I thought just and true," added the young man, promptly.

"Why just and true?" echoed Mark, his passion blazing up again.

"You will be angry, if I tell you."

"No, I won't."

"Then I will speak plainly. I said you deserved to lose the beauty and
value of your colt. Perhaps I was wrong. But I did not believe his eye
was hurt by any such accident as you described."

"How then?" muttered the jockey.

"It seemed to me," answered Chester, folding his arms, "you got mad
training him, and _knocked his eye out_."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes. I saw marks on his head, where you had been whipping him."

"I acknowledge I whipped him," said Mark. "But----"

"Come, come, boys!" cried Mr. Royden, "drop the subject. You, Chester,
are to blame; for, even though your suspicion was correct, you had no
right to speak it. I am mortified beyond measure to think your folly has
fallen upon the head of our good old friend."

"Father Brighthopes, what shall I say to express my sorrow and shame for
what has taken place?" asked Chester, with deep