is to laugh at! A brother and sister meet after many years'
separation, and the sister cries, poor thing. For my part, I think it
very natural that _she_ should cry; but not that you should laugh!" In
an instant the whole shame was removed from Richard Avenel, and rested
in full weight upon the bystanders. It is impossible to say how foolish
and sheepish they all looked, nor how slinkingly each tried to creep
off.

Richard Avenel seized his advantage with the promptitude of a man who
had got on in America, and was therefore accustomed to make the best of
things. He drew Mrs. Fairfield's arm in his, and led her into the house;
but when he had got her safe into his parlor--Leonard following all the
time--and the door was closed upon those three, _then_ Richard Avenel's
ire burst forth.

"You impudent, ungrateful, audacious--drab!"

Yes, drab was the word. I am shocked to say it, but the duties of a
historian are stern; and the word _was_ drab.

"Drab!" faltered poor Jane Fairfield; and she clutched hold of Leonard
to save herself from falling.

"Sir!" cried Leonard, fiercely.

You might as well have cried "sir" to a mountain-torrent. Richard
hurried on, for he was furious.

"You nasty, dirty, dusty dowdy! How dare you come here to disgrace me in
my own house and premises, after my sending you fifty pounds? To take
the very time, too, when--when--"

Richard gasped for breath; and the laugh of his guests rang in his ears,
and got into his chest, and choked him. Jane Fairfield drew herself up,
and her tears were dried.

"I did not come to disgrace you; I came to see my boy, and--"

"Ha!" interrupted Richard, "to see _him_."

He turned to Leonard: "You have written to this woman, then?"

"No, sir, I have not."

"I believe you lie."

"He does not lie; and he is as good as yourself, and better, Richard
Avenel," exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield; "and I won't stand here and hear him
insulted--that's what I won't. And as for your fifty pounds, there are
forty-five of it; and I'll work my fingers to the bone till I pay back
the other five. And don't be afeard I shall disgrace you, for I'll never
look on your face agin; and you're a wicked, bad man--that's what you
are."

The poor woman's voice was so raised, and so shrill, that any other and
more remorseful feeling which Richard might have conceived, was drowned
in his apprehension that she would be overheard by his servants or his
guests--a masculine apprehension, wit