ood clothes, too!"
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER: Love's Pilgrimage.

"Theod. I have a brother--there my last hope!.
Thus as you find me, without fear or wisdom,
I now am only child of Hope and Danger."--Ibid.

The time employed by Mr. Beaufort in reaching his home was haunted
by gloomy and confused terrors. He felt inexplicably as if the
denunciations of Philip were to visit less himself than his son.
He trembled at the thought of Arthur meeting this strange, wild,
exasperated scatterling--perhaps on the morrow--in the very height of
his passions. And yet, after the scene between Arthur and himself, he
saw cause to fear that he might not be able to exercise a sufficient
authority over his son, however naturally facile and obedient, to
prevent his return to the house of death. In this dilemma he resolved,
as is usual with cleverer men, even when yoked to yet feebler helpmates,
to hear if his wife had anything comforting or sensible to say upon the
subject. Accordingly, on reaching Berkeley Square, he went straight
to Mrs. Beaufort; and having relieved her mind as to Arthur's safety,
related the scene in which he had been so unwilling an actor. With
that more lively susceptibility which belongs to most women, however
comparatively unfeeling, Mrs. Beaufort made greater allowance than
her husband for the excitement Philip had betrayed. Still Beaufort's
description of the dark menaces, the fierce countenance, the
brigand-like form, of the bereaved son, gave her very considerable
apprehensions for Arthur, should the young men meet; and she willingly
coincided with her husband in the propriety of using all means of
parental persuasion or command to guard against such an encounter. But,
in the meanwhile, Arthur returned not, and new fears seized the anxious
parents. He had gone forth alone, in a remote suburb of the metropolis,
at a late hour, himself under strong excitement. He might have returned
to the house, or have lost his way amidst some dark haunts of violence
and crime; they knew not where to send, or what to suggest. Day already
began to dawn, and still he came not. A length, towards five o'clock, a
loud rap was heard at the door, and Mr. Beaufort, hearing some bustle
in the hall, descended. He saw his son borne into the hall from
a hackney-coach by two strangers, pale, bleeding, and apparently
insensible. His first thought was that he had been murdered by Philip.
He uttered a feeble cry, and s