e eyes were still fixed upon the wall.

Fanny turned toward him half angrily, but her black eyes quailed before
the changed figure of her father. She recalled the loud, domineering,
dogmatic man, insisting, morning and night, that as soon as he was rich
enough he would be all that he wanted to be--the self-important,
patronizing, cold, and unsympathetic head of the family. Where was he?
Who was this that sat in the parlor, in his chair, no longer pompous and
fierce, but bowed, gray, drumming on his thin knees with lean white
fingers?

"Father!" exclaimed Fanny, involuntarily, and terrified.

The old man turned his head toward her. The calm, hard eyes looked into
hers. There was no expression of surprise, or indignation, or
forgiveness--nothing but a placid abstraction and vagueness.

"Father!" Fanny repeated, rising, and half moving toward him.

His head turned back again--his eyes looked at the wall--and she heard
only the words, "Riches have wings! Riches have wings!"

As Fanny sank back into her chair, pale and appalled, May took her hand
and began to talk with her in a low, murmuring tone. The others fell into
a fragmentary conversation, constantly recurring with their eyes to Mr.
Newt. The talk went on in broken whispers, and it was quite late in the
evening when a stumbling step advanced to the door, which was burst open,
and there stood Abel Newt, with his hat crushed, his clothes soiled, his
jaw hanging, and his eyes lifted in a drunken leer.

"How do?" he said, leaning against the door-frame and nodding his head.

His mother, who had never before seen him in such a condition, glanced at
him, and uttered a frightened cry. Lawrence Newt and Gabriel rose, and,
going toward him, took his arms and tried to lead him out. Abel had no
kindly feeling for either of them. His brow lowered, and the sullen
blackness shot into his eyes.

"Hands off!" he cried, in a threatening tone.

They still urged him out of the room.

"Hands off!" he said again, looking at Lawrence Newt, and then in a
sneering tone:

"Oh! the Reverend Gabriel Bennet! Come, I licked you like--like--like
hell once, and I'll--I'll--I'll--do it again. Stand back!" he shouted,
with drunken energy, and struggling to free his arms.

But Gabriel and Lawrence Newt held fast. The others rose and stood
looking on, Mrs. Newt hysterically weeping, and May pale with terror.
Alfred Dinks laughed, foolishly, and gazed about for sympathy. Gerald
Bennet dre