culty did
he keep back the tears.

"Hush, Desmond!" said his mother. "Dick will hear you. You are tired out,
dear boy; go to bed; things will look brighter in the morning. Only have
patience. Good night, my son."

Desmond kissed his mother and went to his room. But it was long before he
slept. His bruised body found no comfort; his head throbbed; his soul was
filled with resentment and the passionate longing for release.

His life had not been very happy. He barely remembered his father--a big,
keen-eyed, loud-voiced old man--who died when his younger son was four
years old. Richard Burke had run away from his Irish home to sea. He
served on Admiral Rooke's flagship at the battle of La Hogue, and, rising
in the navy to the rank of warrant officer, bought a ship with the
savings of twenty years and fitted it out for unauthorized trade with the
East Indies. His daring, skill, and success attracted the attention of
the officers of the Company. He was invited to enter the Company's
service. As captain of an Indiaman he sailed backwards and forwards for
ten years; then at the age of fifty retired with a considerable fortune
and married the daughter of a Shropshire farmer. The death of his wife's
relatives led him to settle on the farm their family had tenanted for
generations, and it was at Wilcote Grange that his three children were
born.

Fifteen years separated the elder son from the younger; between them came
a daughter, who married early and left the neighborhood. Four years after
Desmond's birth the old man died, leaving the boy to the guardianship of
his brother.

There lay the seed of trouble. No brothers could have been more unlike
than the two sons of Captain Burke. Richard was made on a large and
powerful scale; he was hard working, methodical, grasping, wholly
unimaginative, and in temper violent and domineering. Slighter and less
robust, though not less healthy, Desmond was a boy of vivid imagination,
high strung, high spirited, his feelings easily moved, his pride easily
wounded. His brother was too dull and stolid to understand him, taking
for deliberate malice what was but boyish mischief, and regarding him as
sullen when he was only dreamily thoughtful.

As a young boy Desmond kept as much as possible out of his brother's way.
But as he grew older he came more directly under Richard's control, with
the result that they were now in a constant state of feud. Their mother,
a woman of sweet temper but