my
father's head for a certain action of his early life. In this action he
was associated with the man known as Corporal Rufus Smith, so that the
fact of the latter finding his way to my father was a warning to us that
the time had come, and that this 5th of October--the anniversary of the
misdeed--would be the day of its atonement. I told you of our fears
in my letter, and, if I am not mistaken, my father also had some
conversation with you, John, upon the subject. When I saw yesterday
morning that he had hunted out the old uniform which he had always
retained since he wore it in the Afghan war, I was sure that the end was
at hand, and that our forebodings would be realised.

"He appeared to be more composed in the afternoon than I have seen him
for years, and spoke freely of his life in India and of the incidents of
his youth. About nine o'clock he requested us to go up to our own rooms,
and locked us in there--a precaution which he frequently took when the
dark fit way upon him. It was always his endeavour, poor soul, to keep
us clear of the curse which had fallen upon his own unfortunate head.
Before parting from us he tenderly embraced my mother and Gabriel,
and he afterwards followed me to my room, where he clasped my hand
affectionately and gave into my charge a small packet addressed to
yourself."

"To me?" I interrupted.

"To you. I shall fulfill my commission when I have told you my story. I
conjured him to allow me to sit up with him and share any danger which
might arise, but he implored me with irresistible earnestness not to add
to his troubles by thwarting his arrangements. Seeing that I was really
distressing him by my pertinacity, I at last allowed him to close the
door and to turn the key upon the outside. I shall always reproach
myself for my want of firmness. But what can you do when your own father
refuses your assistance or co-operation? You cannot force yourself upon
him."

"I am sure that you did all you could do," my sister said.

"I meant to, dear Esther, but, God help me, it was hard to tell what
was right. He left me, and I heard his footsteps die away down the long
corridor. It was then about ten o'clock, or a little after. For a time
I paced up and down the room, and then, carrying the lamp to the head of
my bed, I lay down without undressing, reading St. Thomas a Kempis, and
praying from my heart that the night might pass safely over us.

"I had at last fallen into a troubled sleep