sigh would break from her lips, whilst from time
to time a tear forced its way to her eyes.

Dusk was falling now. She could no longer see across the expanse of
park land which surrounded Gablehurst. She drew the curtains at
last with gentle hands, and piled up the logs upon the hearth.
There was a glint of something in her eyes not altogether accounted
for by the tears in them. It was a sparkle which bespoke wounded
sensibility--something approaching to anger.

"O brother, brother," she whispered, with dry lips, "how can you
treat him so? Have you a heart? How terrible a judgment you seem to
be seeking to draw down upon yourself! What will the end be like,
if this is the beginning?"

The flames leapt up with a sudden ruddy glow. The room had been
dark before; now it was suddenly flooded with a brilliant
palpitating light. As Rachel turned back to the bed, she saw that
her father's eyes had opened. The mists of weakness no longer
seemed to cloud his sight. He was looking round him with
comprehension and observation.

"Where is Tom?"

It was the question they had been expecting all day. It was in
anticipation of this that messengers had been scouring the
neighbourhood in search of that young ne'er-do-well, Tom Tufton,
the good Squire's unworthy son.

And yet, unworthy as he was--idle, reckless, dissipated, a source
of pain and anxiety to father, mother, and sister--young Tom was
beloved by the people in and about his home, albeit they all shook
their heads over his follies and wildness, and wondered with bated
breath what would befall Gablehurst when the young master should be
lord of all.

"Where is Tom?" asked the Squire, in a firmer voice than they had
thought to hear again.

"Dear father, we have sent for him," answered Rachel soothingly;
"he will be here anon."

"I would speak with Tom," said the Squire. "There are things I
needs must say to him ere I close my eyes for ever. Perchance I
have already delayed too long. Yet I have waited and waited, hoping
for signs of seriousness in one so soon to lose a parent. But
seriousness and Tom have no dealings together, it would seem. God
forgive us if it be any lack on our part that has made our son the
wild young blade that he seems like to be!"

A little sob broke from the mother's lips. It was the bitterest
thought of all to the parents; and yet they could not see wherein
they had erred. They had striven to bring up the boy well. He had
had the same train