you came--you are the best judge. I shall inform your cousin John of
what has passed--it is my duty to do so--and he shall decide whether
you are to remain, a firebrand, and a disturber of the peace of a
Christian household. It is my duty to protect my poor boy."

At that moment the hall door was opened and closed, and the "poor boy,"
after shuffling about in the hall for a moment or two, opened the
drawing-room door. His hat was on the back of his head, one end of his
collar was unfastened, his face was flushed, and there was mud on his
coat, as if he had fallen--which he had. He lurched into the room with
a tipsy leer, and nodded to them with an affectation of extreme
sobriety, which is unfortunately always assumed by the individual who
is hopelessly intoxicated. Mrs. Heron rose with outstretched hands.

"Oh, Joseph, are you ill? My poor boy!"

"Ill?" he repeated, with a hiccough. "No, I'm not ill. Yes, I am,
though; it's mental worry, it's a 'arassed 'eart;" he looked at Ida and
shook his head reproachfully. "_She_ knows, but she don't care--But
whatsh the matter," he broke off, staring at Isabel, who was still
struggling with her sniffs and sobs. "Whatsh up? Whatsh Isabel cryin'
for? Ida been cryin' too? Look 'ere, I won't shtand that. If they've
bin ill-treating you, Ida, my dear, you shay so, and I'll know the
reashon why. You come to me, my dear."

He lurched towards Ida, and as she drew back with a shudder of horror
and loathing, Isabel and his mother caught the wretched young man by
the arm, and with cries of alarm and commiseration, endeavoured to
soothe him.

"Don't speak to her, don't think of her; she's not worth it!" said Mrs.
Heron. "She's not worth any sensible man's thoughts, least of all a man
like you, Joseph. You are ill, you must come to bed!"

"Stuff an' 'umbug," he hiccoughed, as he struggled feebly with them,
and cast enamoured and would-be reassuring glances at Ida's white and
stern face. "She's a shplendid girl; she's a good girl; finest gal I
know; and she an' me undershtand one another; twin shouls. We've kep'
our secret from you, mother, but the time has come--the time has come
to reveal the truth. I love Ida. It'sh no good your frowning at me like
that; I shay I love Ida."

CHAPTER XXXV.

At this point John Heron's ring and knock were heard at the door; with
a cry of terror, the unfortunate mother succeeded in dragging the
feebly struggling Joseph out of the room, and with