ve! and glad to be home."

The clergyman retreated as from a ghost--afraid.

"Don't be afraid of me. The report of my death was all a mistake,
father."

"Dick--Dick--my boy--back--alive!"

The father folded his son to his heart, with a cry of joy and a sudden
rush of tears. He babbled incoherently, and gasped for breath. Dick
supported the faltering steps to the chair by the desk. Then, he closed
the window silently, and flinging his cap upon the table, slowly divested
himself of the long ulster.

The inevitable pause of embarrassment followed.

"I've come to have a talk with you, father," said Dick, cheerily. He
seized the poker, and raked together the embers of the dying fire, as
naturally as though no interval of time had elapsed since he was there
last.

The rector wiped his eyes and pulled himself together, realizing, after
the first rush of emotion, the terrible situation created by his son's
return. His natural impulse was to rush upstairs to Mary, and tell her
the glad news--glad, yet terrible. But Dick forestalled him by remarking
quite casually:

"I want to see you first, father, before telling mother. My coming back
will be a shock; and she ought to be prepared."

"Yes--you've taken me by surprise, my boy. Why didn't you write? Why
didn't you let us know? Why didn't you telegraph?"

"I did write, and I thought you knew all about it, and would be expecting
me, and, as soon as I landed, I telegraphed to Dora Dundas, thinking she
would call on mother. But the colonel intercepted my telegram, and came
himself, and told me of the--of the--"

The rector looked down at his desk; he could not face his son. His hand
involuntarily clenched as it rested on the table.

"He told me of the mess I've got myself into over the bank business--told
me they would arrest me if I came home. But I couldn't keep away,
father." There were tears in Dick's voice now. "I just wanted to see you
before--before emigrating."

"Emigrating, my boy! Why should you emigrate?"

This was hardly the tone that Dick expected: no reproach, no
questioning.

"It's no good running the risk of a prosecution, is it, father? And, as
I've disgraced the family, I'd--"

"You mean to say that you don't deny the bank's charge of forgery?"

"No--no, father, I don't deny it. Why should I?"

The rector looked at his son helplessly, in agonized appeal. His hands
went up, and he bowed his head before him. Dick was the strong man, and
he the w