have a talk."

"Wouldn't you like to take a turn while he is clearing? There's
the Martyr's Memorial you haven't seen."

"No, thank you. I know the place well enough. I don't come to
walk about in the dark. We sha'n't be in your man's way."

And so Tom's scout came in to clear away, took out the extra
leaves of the table, put on the cloth, and laid tea. During these
operations Mr. Brown was standing with his back to the fire,
looking about him as he talked. When there was more space to move
in, he began to walk up and down, and very soon took to remarking
the furniture and arrangements of the room. One after the other
the pictures came under his notice. Most of them escaped without
comment, the Squire simply pausing a moment, and then taking up
his walk again. Magna Charta drew forth his hearty approval. It
was a capital notion to hang such things on his walls, instead of
bad prints of steeple-chases, or trash of that sort. "Ah, here's
something else of the same kind. Why, Tom, what's this?" said the
squire, as he paused before the death-warrant. There was a moment
or two of dead silence, while the Squire's eyes ran down the
names, from Jo. Bradshaw to Miles Corbet; and then he turned, and
came and sat down opposite to his son. Tom expected his father to
be vexed, but was not the least prepared for the tone of pain,
and sorrow, and anger, in which he first inquired, and then
remonstrated.

For some time past the Squire and his son had not felt so
comfortable together as of old. Mr. Brown had been annoyed by
much that Tom had done in the case of Harry Winburn, though he
did not know all. There had sprung up a barrier somehow or other
between them, neither of them knew how. They had often felt
embarrassed at being left alone together during the past year,
and found that there were certain topics which they could not
talk upon, which they avoided by mutual consent. Every now and
then the constraint and embarrassment fell off for a short time,
for at bottom they loved and appreciated one another heartily;
but the divergences in their thoughts and habits had become very
serious, and seemed likely to increase rather than not. They felt
keenly the chasm between the two generations. As they looked at
one another from opposite banks, each in his secret heart blamed
the other in great measure for that which was the fault of
neither. Mixed with the longings which each felt for a better
understanding was enough of reserve an