ife
has been Sydney's, depend upon it, in the years before you and I met
with her. Good heavens! What would my wife say if she heard me?
The women are nice, but they have their drawbacks. Let us wait till
tomorrow, my dear boy; and let us believe in Sydney without allowing our
wives--I beg your pardon, I mean _my_ wife--to suspect in what forbidden
directions our sympathies are leading us. Oh, for shame!"

Who could persist in feeling depressed in the company of such a man as
this? Randal went home with the influence of Mr. Sarrazin's sanguine
nature in undisturbed possession of him, until his old servant's gloomy
face confronted him at the door.

"Anything gone wrong, Malcolm?"

"I'm sorry to say, sir, Mr. Herbert has left us."

"Left us! Why?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Where has he gone?"

"He didn't tell me."

"Is there no letter? No message?"

"There's a message, sir. Mr. Herbert came back--"

"Stop! Where had he been when he came back?"

"He said he felt a little lonely after you went out, and he thought it
might cheer him up if he went to the club. I was to tell you where he
had gone if you asked what had become of him. He said it kindly and
pleasantly--quite like himself, sir. But, when he came back--if you'll
excuse my saying so--I never saw a man in a worse temper. 'Tell my
brother I am obliged to him for his hospitality, and I won't take
advantage of it any longer.' That was Mr. Herbert's message. I tried to
say a word. He banged the door, and away he went."

Even Randal's patient and gentle nature rose in revolt against his
brother's treatment of him. He entered his sitting-room in silence.
Malcolm followed, and pointed to a letter on the table. "I think you
must have thrown it away by mistake, sir," the old man explained; "I
found it in the waste-paper basket." He bowed with the unfailing respect
of the old school, and withdrew.

Randal's first resolve was to dismiss his brother from further
consideration. "Kindness is thrown away on Herbert," he thought; "I
shall treat him for the future as he has treated me."

But his brother was still in his mind. He opened Mrs. Presty's
letter--on the chance that it might turn the current of his thoughts in
a new direction.

In spite of Mrs. Presty, in spite of himself, his heart softened toward
the man who had behaved so badly to him. Instead of reading the letter,
he was now trying to discover a connection between his brother's visit
to the club and