en sworn to secrecy. This was not difficult, as all
were devoted to Dick. He had always been a favorite. His kindness and
consideration for those who served him was always in marked contrast to
Netty's haughty and exacting nature. There was not a creature in the
house who would not have run personal risk to serve him.

He was still in a state of prostration, weaker far than he knew, and on
the brink of a serious collapse. The need for secrecy made it dangerous
to call in medical aid, and he tried to allay his father's anxiety by
assuring him that rest was all he needed. He would soon be well enough to
start on his way again.

During breakfast, Netty had made no comment on her brother's return. Her
eyes were red with weeping, but only because she saw the possibility of
her brother in the dock, and Harry Bent's mother opposing her marriage.
The rector and his wife scarcely exchanged a word; it was obvious that
there was a growing antagonism between them. The woman already suspected
her husband of leaning toward her son, with designs upon her liberty and
reputation. The rector was hoping that his wife would come to her
senses, now that her boy had returned, and see the wisdom of confession,
without forcing upon him the painful task of telling the dreadful truth.
The situation had been argued out between them until words ceased to have
meaning, and by common consent all action was suspended until this
morning, when, it was hoped, Dick would be rested, and able to join the
council.

If anything, Dick was worse; listless, nerveless, unable to rise, and
spending his time in dozes that were perilously near unconsciousness.

The meal ended, Netty escaped. Her mother hurried up to Dick, and the
rector to his study, where he awaited his wife.

Presently, she came down, dressed for walking.

"Where are you going, Mary?" he asked nervously.

"I'm going up to see father. It's the only thing to do. He cannot kill
his own grandson. If Dick dies, his death will be at father's door."

"Mary, you are agitated and hysterical. You are not fit to see anyone.
Your father can do nothing. The matter is in the hands of the bank. We
must either remain passive, and await the issue of events, or see Ormsby
and put the case to him, appealing to him for a withdrawal of the
prosecution."

"What mercy do you think we shall get from him? You forget he is a
prospective bridegroom, and his bride, Dora Dundas, is preparing for her
wedding. What w