e doorway now, with a half drunken
satyr-like leer on his face, he looked perfectly hideous.

"Where's my pretty boy been?" he piped out. "How pale he looks. Are you
drunk, my lad?"

"No! wish I was," replied George. "Give me the keys, dad, and let me
get a drink of brandy. I've been vexed, and had nought to drink all
night. I shall be getting the horrors if I don't have something before
I go to bed."

The old man got him half a tumbler of brandy from his room, where there
was always some to be had, and following him into his room, sat down on
the bed.

"Who's been vexing my handsome son?" said he; "my son that I've been
waiting up for all night. Death and gallows to them, whoever they are.
Is it that pale-faced little parson's daughter? Or is it her
tight-laced hypocrite of a father, that comes whining here with his
good advice to me who know the world so well? Never mind, my boy. Keep
a smooth face, and play the humbug till you've got her, and her money,
and then break her impudent little heart if you will. Go to sleep, my
boy, and dream you are avenged on them all."

"I mean to be, father, on some of them, I tell you," replied George.

"That's right, my man. Good night."

"Good night, old dad," said George. As he watched him out of the room,
a kinder, softer, expression came on his face. His father was the only
being he cared for in the world.

He slept a heavy and dreamless sleep that night, and when he woke for
the first time, the bright winter's sun was shining into his room, and
morning was far advanced.

He arose, strengthened and refreshed by his sleep, with a light heart.
He began whistling as he dressed himself, but suddenly stopped, as the
recollection of the night before came upon him. Was it a reality, or
only a dream? No; it was true enough. He has no need to whistle this
morning. He is entangled in a web of crime and guilt from which there
is no escape.

He dressed himself, and went forth into the fresh morning air for a
turn, walking up and down on the broad gravel walk before the dark old
porch.

A glorious winter's morning. The dismal old stonehouse, many-gabled,
held aloft its tall red chimneys towards the clear blue sky, and looked
bright and pleasant in the sunshine. The deep fir and holly woods which
hemmed it in on all sides, save in front, were cheerful with sloping
gleams of sunlight, falling on many a patch of green moss, red fern,
and bright brown last year's leaves. In front,