"It is impossible--I cannot stir," answered Sidney: and a sudden flash
of lightning showed his countenance, ghastly, as if with the damps of
Death. What could the brother do?--stay there, and see the boy perish
before his eyes? leave him on the road and fly to the friendly light?
The last plan was the sole one left, yet he shrank from it in greater
terror than the first. Was that a step that he heard across the road? He
held his breath to listen--a form became dimly visible--it approached.

Philip shouted aloud.

"What now?" answered the voice, and it seemed familiar to Morton's ear.
He sprang forward; and putting his face close to the wayfarer, thought
to recognise the features of Captain de Burgh Smith. The Captain, whose
eyes were yet more accustomed to the dark, made the first overture.

"Why, my lad, is it you then? 'Gad, you froightened me!"

Odious as this man had hitherto been to Philip, he was as welcome to him
as daylight now; he grasped his hand,--"My brother--a child--is here,
dying, I fear, with cold and fatigue; he cannot stir. Will you stay with
him--support him--but for a few moments, while I make to yon light? See,
I have money--plenty of money!"

"My good lad, it is very ugly work staying here at this hour:
still--where's the choild?"

"Here, here! make haste, raise him! that's right! God bless you! I shall
be back ere you think me gone."

He sprang from the road, and plunged through the heath, the furze, the
rank glistening pools, straight towards the light-as the swimmer towards
the shore.

The captain, though a rogue, was human; and when life--an innocent
life--is at stake, even a rogue's heart rises up from its weedy bed.
He muttered a few oaths, it is true, but he held the child in his arms;
and, taking out a little tin case, poured some brandy down Sidney's
throat and then, by way of company, down his own. The cordial revived
the boy; he opened his eyes, and said, "I think I can go on now,
Philip."

........

We must return to Arthur Beaufort. He was naturally, though gentle, a
person of high spirit and not without pride. He rose from the ground
with bitter, resentful feelings and a blushing cheek, and went his way
to the hotel. Here he found Mr. Spencer just returned from his visit
to Sidney. Enchanted with the soft and endearing manners of his lost
Catherine's son, and deeply affected with the resemblance the child bore
to the mother as he had seen her last at the gay and r