rday?"

"A stranger came to him. Your brother's lawyer, Mr. Grimes."

"Grimes? Oh, my poor father!"

He sat down abruptly. Agatha wondered at his mingling the two names.
What should Grimes have to do with his father?

"Did any one else see Grimes?"

"I did."

"What did he say to you? Was it"--he dropped his head, and spoke half
inaudibly--"Was it anything about my brother?"

Agatha marvelled, even with a sort of pain. Father, brother, every one
before her! "He never named Major Harper, that I can remember. But he
said"--

"What?"

Agatha drew back. How could she speak of such petty things as money and
fortune then! She answered softly, and with a full heart:

"Never mind. It was a mere trifle, not worth telling, or even thinking
of now. Another time."

Nathanael regarded his wife doubtfully, but she bore the look. She was
speaking the simple truth. Loss of fortune did seem "a mere trifle" now,
when he was safe back again, and she sat in his presence, he talking to
her as gently as in the olden time. Her simplicity in worldly things
was so extreme that even Nathanael passed it over as impossible. He only
said:

"Well, all must come out ere long. We cannot think of it now. Tell me
more about my poor father."

"There is little more to tell. His manner was rather strange, I thought,
all dinner-time. He drank healths as usual--especially yours. His mind
was wandering then, for he called you his _only_ son. Then Mr. Grimes
gave another toast--Major Harper. At that moment your father fell from
his chair."

Nathanael started up--"I knew it would be so. He could not bear such
shame--my poor old father!"

"Nathanael," cried Harrie, from the fireside group, "come and give us
your opinion. I say that he ought to be sent for at once."

"Who?"

"Frederick"

Nathanael cried out violently, as if self-control were no longer
possible.

"Never! Here have I used every effort, smothered every feeling, made
every sacrifice, to save my poor father from knowing all this--and in
vain! You may talk as you like, but I say Frederick shall never enter
these doors. He is as good as his father's murderer."

"Hush!" cried Anne Valery, going to him while the others stood aghast.
She only knew what fearful storms can be roused in these quiet natures.

"I will not hush. I have been silent too long over his wrong-doing."

"But some"--breathed Anne scarce audibly--"some whom he wronged have
been silent for a lifetime."

Nat