my
story by the way. I want to get back there an' jest let the people know
that I 've repented, an' then I can die in peace. I want to see ef my
wife an' child--" Here a great fit of coughing seized him again, and he
was forced to sit down.

Brent had listened breathlessly to every word: a terrible fear was
clutching at his heart. When the man sat down, he heard the voice of the
chairman saying, "Now let us all contribute what we can to help the
brother on his journey; he has n't far to go. Come forward and lay your
contributions on the table here, now. Some one sing. Now who 's going to
help Brother Brent?"

The young man heard the name. He grasped the seat in front of him for
support. He seized his hat, staggered to his feet, and stumbled blindly
out of the room and down the stairs.

"Drunk" said some one as he passed.

He rushed into the street, crying within himself, "My God! my God!" He
hurried through the crowds, thrusting the people right and left and
unheeding the curses that followed him. He reached home and groped up to
his room.

"Awful!" murmured Mrs. Jones. "He seemed such a good young man; but he
's been out with Mr. Perkins, and men will be men."

Once in his room, it seemed that he would go mad. Back and forth he
paced the floor, clenching his hands and smiting his head. He wanted to
cry out. He felt the impulse to beat his head against the wall. "My God!
my God! It was my father," he cried, "going back home. What shall I do?"
There was yet no pity in his heart for the man whom he now knew to be
his parent. His only thought was of the bitterness that parent's folly
had caused. "Oh, why could he not have died away from home, without
going back there to revive all the old memories? Why must he go back
there just at this troublous time to distress those who have loved me
and help those who hate me to drag my name in the dust? He has chosen
his own way, and it has ever been apart from me. He has neglected and
forgotten me. Now why does he seek me out, after a life spent among
strangers? I do not want him. I will not see him again. I shall never go
home. I have seen him, I have heard him talk. I have stood near him and
talked with him, and just when I am leaving it all behind me, all my
past of sorrow and degradation, he comes and lays a hand upon me, and I
am more the son of Tom Brent to-night than ever before. Is it Fate, God,
or the devil that pursues me so?"

His passion was spending itself. When