e I was driven to it. Things were against me out
there, and went from bad to worse.'

'Then why didn't you let us know?--you've not writ a line for the last
two or three years.'

The son admitted sadly that he had not. He said that he had hoped and
thought he might fetch up again, and be able to send good news. Then he
had been obliged to abandon that hope, and had finally come home from
sheer necessity--previously to making a new start. 'Yes, things are very
bad with me,' he repeated, perceiving their commiserating glances at his
clothes.

They brought him nearer the fire, took his hat from his thin hand, which
was so small and smooth as to show that his attempts to fetch up again
had not been in a manual direction. His mother resumed her inquiries,
and dubiously asked if he had chosen to come that particular night for
any special reason.

For no reason, he told her. His arrival had been quite at random. Then
Philip Hall looked round the room, and saw for the first time that the
table was laid somewhat luxuriously, and for a larger number than
themselves; and that an air of festivity pervaded their dress. He asked
quickly what was going on.

'Sally is going to be married in a day or two,' replied the mother; and
she explained how Mr. Darton, Sally's intended husband, was coming there
that night with the groomsman, Mr. Johns, and other details. 'We thought
it must be their step when we heard you,' said Mrs. Hall.

The needy wanderer looked again on the floor. 'I see--I see,' he
murmured. 'Why, indeed, should I have come to-night? Such folk as I are
not wanted here at these times, naturally. And I have no business
here--spoiling other people's happiness.'

'Phil,' said his mother, with a tear in her eye, but with a thinness of
lip and severity of manner which were presumably not more than past
events justified; 'since you speak like that to me, I'll speak honestly
to you. For these three years you have taken no thought for us. You
left home with a good supply of money, and strength and education, and
you ought to have made good use of it all. But you come back like a
beggar; and that you come in a very awkward time for us cannot be denied.
Your return to-night may do us much harm. But mind--you are welcome to
this home as long as it is mine. I don't wish to turn you adrift. We
will make the best of a bad job; and I hope you are not seriously ill?'

'O no. I have only this infernal cough.'