sacred--not even to his dearer
self--his wife--did he ever speak of what he had seen.

The Prodigal had eaten his fill of husks and had returned to his
father's roof and his father's love. But in this case the father had
also sinned, for surely undue severity and exacting hardness and
failure of sympathy are sins to be bitterly repented. No one can
gather grapes of thorns, or glean corn from a harvest of tares. And no
parent who has first unwisely indulged his son, and then ruled him with
a rod of iron, can well claim the glad obedience of a free son.

If Alwyn Gaythorne, trammelled and embittered by his father's tyranny,
had dashed recklessly down the path that leads to destruction, his
father had first driven him to the verge of frenzy.

Young limbs will not always adjust themselves to the Procrustean bed.
Alwyn, who had inherited his father's strong will, refused to bear the
yoke of his despotism.

"I would rather starve, and have room to breathe," he had once said to
Greta. "There is no room here."

Another half-hour passed before Dr. Luttrell ventured into the room
again. He found Mr. Gaythorne leaning back in his chair looking very
white and exhausted, but with a peaceful expression on his face. Alwyn
had just left his side and was standing by the window with a miniature
in his hand.

"Dr. Luttrell," observed the old man feebly, as he gave him some
restorative, "my son will stay with me to-night." And then Alwyn
flushed as he met the doctor's eyes.

"He wishes it very much, and perhaps it will be better," he said in a
low voice. "Will you explain how it is to Mrs. Luttrell? I will see
her tomorrow."

"Very well, but there must be no more talking to-night. If you will go
into the next room I will see you presently," and Alwyn nodded.

"It is all right, happiness never kills," observed Mr. Gaythorne, "and
for the matter of that, grief, either. We must just bide our time."
Then with a flash of strong feeling in the deeply-set eyes, he held out
his hand to the young doctor.

"God bless you, Luttrell. He says you have been like a brother to him.
And as for your wife, he has no words for her goodness. May Heaven
repay you both for what you have done for me and my boy."

When Marcus returned home he found Greta sitting with his wife; they
both looked at him anxiously.

"Mr. Gaythorne will not part with his son," he informed them. "Mrs.
Crampton is getting a room ready for him, so your labours