our
of the evening, and Frank felt as if every moment of sorrow were almost a
cruelty to his wife. The Guardian's wife owned that she ought not to
press him to sleep at her house, and forwarded his departure with strong
fellow-feeling for the mother's hungry bosom.

From the station Frank sent telegrams to Herbert, to Mrs. Morton, and to
Rose Rollstone; besides one to Lady Adela, containing only the reference,
Luke xv. 32.

People looked somewhat curiously at the thin, worn-looking, elderly man,
with the travelling bag in one hand, and the little boy holding tight by
the other, each with a countenance of radiant gladness; and again, to see
how, when seated, he allowed himself to be climbed over and clasped by
the sturdy being, who seemed almost overwhelming to one so slight.

When the September twilight darkened into night, Michael, who had been
asleep, awoke with a scream and flung both arms round his father's neck,
exclaiming--

'Oh, Louey, I'll not cry! Don't let him throw me out! Oh, the nasty
man!'

And even when convinced that no nasty man was present, and that it was
papa, not Louey, whom he was grappling, he still nestled as close as
possible, while he was only pacified in recurring frights by listening to
a story. Never good at story-telling, the only one that, for the nonce,
his father could put together was that of Joseph, and this elicited
various personal comparisons.

'Mine wasn't a coat of many colours, it was my blue frock! Did they dip
it in blood, papa?'

'Not quite, my darling, but it was the same thing.'

Then presently, 'It wasn't a camel, but a puff puff, and _he_ was so
cross!'

By and by, 'I didn't tell anybody's dreams, papa. They didn't make me
ride in a cha-rot, but nurse made me monitor, 'cause I knew all my
letters. I should like to have a brother Benjamin. Mayn't Tommy be my
brother? Wasn't Joseph's mamma very glad?'

Michael's Egypt had not been a very terrible house of bondage, and the
darker moments of his abduction did not dwell on his memory; but years
later, when first he tasted beer, he put down the glass with a shudder,
as the smell and taste brought back a sense of distress, confusion, and
horror in a gas-lit, crowded bar, full of loud-voiced, rough figures, and
resounding with strange language and fierce threats to make him swallow
the draught which, no doubt, had been drugged.

CHAPTER XL
JOY WELL-NIGH INCREDIBLE

The midday letters were a riddle