ad oftentimes beset him on the eve of some painful
operation in his art.

"Well, Grounsell," said the old man, with a smile, as he entered, "is
it to give me a foretaste of my altered condition that you all desert me
to-day? You have never come near me, nor George either, so far as I can
learn."

"We've had a busy morning of it, Stafford," said the doctor, sitting
down on the bed, and laying his finger on the pulse. "You are
better--much better to-day. Your hand is like itself, and your eye is
free from fever."

"I feel it, Gronnsell,--I feel as if, with some twenty years less upon
my back, I could like to begin my tussle with the world, and try issue
with the best."

"You 're young enough, and active enough yet, for what is before you,
Stafford. Yesterday I told you of everything in colors perhaps gloomier
than reality. The papers of to-day are somewhat more cheery in their
tidings. The hurricane may pass over, and leave us still afloat; but
there is another trial for you, my old friend, and you must take heart
to bear it well and manfully."

Sir Stafford sat up in his bed, and, grasping Grounsell by either
shoulder, cried out, "Go on--tell it quickly."

"Be calm, Stafford; be yourself, my old friend," said Grounsell,
terrified at the degree of emotion he had called up. "Your own
courageous spirit will not desert you now."

"I know it," said the old man, as, relaxing his grasp, he fell back upon
the pillow, and then, turning on his face, he uttered a deep groan. "I
know your tidings now," cried he, in a burst of agony. "Oh, Grounsell,
what is all other disgrace compared to this?"

"I am speaking of George--of your son," interposed Gronnsell, hastily,
and seizing with avidity the opportunity to reveal all at once. "He left
this for Pratolino this morning to fight a duel, but by some mischance
has fallen over a cliff, and is severely injured."

"He's dead,--you would tell me he is dead!" said the old man, in a
faint, thrilling whisper.

"Far from it Alive, and like to live, but still sorely crushed and
wounded."

"Oh, God!" cried the old man, in a burst of emotion, "what worldliness
is in my heart when I am thankful for such tidings as this! When it is a
relief to me to know that my child--my only son--lies maimed and broken
on a sick-bed, instead of--instead of--" A gush of tears here broke in
upon his utterance, and he wept bitterly.

Grounsell knew too well the relief such paroxysms afford to interfere