d have no anxiety on that point."

"I am very glad to hear it."

"But tell me what you know about him, Father Burke. His family never
mentions his name, and I supposed there was something to conceal. Was it
anything very bad?"

"Yes, bad enough. He is a wilful man, of a perverse and violent temper.
His utterances of yesterday are in perfect accord with the spirit he
displayed in youth. He broke his father's heart."

"From his face one would never suspect that part of it--the violent
temper. He appears to be a person of unusual cheerfulness and
serenity,--most _offensively_ serene at times."

"Very possible, my child. One of the hardest things to learn, and we
seldom achieve it in youth, is that outward appearances often bear no
relation to the inner man,--that the most inviting face can hide a
vicious nature."

"Do you really think him a bad man? I mean thoroughly unprincipled and
wicked? I don't like him, but somehow it doesn't seem as if he could be
utterly bad, with such a face."

"Ah, my daughter, be on your guard against those very things! Heed the
voice of experience. Remember his career."

"But what especial thing did he do? What drove him away from home?"

"In a fit of temper he tried to kill his father."

"Really!"

"As an old friend of the family, I knew the circumstances."

"Awful! How did it happen?"

"They were in the garden in an arbor, engaged in a controversy. In his
anger he struck the old gentleman and knocked him down, and would have
killed him had not others interfered."

A silence followed, not broken by Father Burke. He desired his listener
to realize the iniquity of the deed.

At last she inquired half timidly:

"And there was no provocation?"

"None whatever."

After another pause she said, reflectively:

"The father had a temper too, I fancy, from what I know of him."

Toward the face beside him the priest cast a sidelong look, which was
detected.

"I am not defending the son," she said hastily. "Heaven forbid! I almost
hate him. But you must admit that the father was not an especially
lovable character, nor very gentle in his ways."

"He had his faults, like the rest of us; but he was a rare man,--a
religious man of deep convictions, and the soul of honor."

"Yes, I suppose so, but I was always afraid of him."

Father Burke laid his hand on her arm and said, very gently but with
unusual seriousness:

"I should regret exceedingly, my child, to have you listen to