the room, looking
wonderfully bright and cheerful.

"Good-morning, Richard," she cried; "I am so sorry I am late. James
will be down directly. Good-morning, Tom."

Tom jumped in his chair at this pleasantly cordial greeting, and stared
dumbfounded at his aunt.

"Not a bit late," said Uncle Richard, after a glance at his watch. "You
are very punctual. Hah, here is James."

For at that moment Mr Brandon, looking clean-shaven and pleasant,
entered the room.

"Morning, Dick," he cried; "what a lovely air. Ah, Tom, my boy, got
over the skirmish?"

Tom babbled out something, and felt giddy. What did it mean? Could
they have divined that he was about to run away, and were going to alter
their treatment; or had Uncle Richard, who seemed again so grave and
cold, been taking his part after he had gone to bed?

But he had very little time for dwelling upon that; the question which
troubled him was, How could he go away now?

The thoughts sent him into a cold perspiration, and he glanced anxiously
at the clock, to see that it was a quarter past eight, and that in
fifteen minutes, according to custom, he must start for the office--for
the office, and then--where?

Just then Mary entered with the breakfast-tray, and, chatting
pleasantly, all took their seats. Mary whisked off two covers, to
display fried ham and eggs on one, hot grilled kidneys on the other.

Tom grew hotter and colder, and asked himself whether he was going out
of his mind, for there was no thin tea and bread-and-butter that
morning.

"Tea or coffee, Tom?" said his aunt; and Tom's voice sounded hoarse as
he chose the latter.

He was just recovering from this shock when his uncle said--

"Ham and eggs or kidneys, Tom? There, try both--they go well together."

"Thank you, uncle," faltered the boy; and he involuntarily looked up at
Uncle Richard, who sat opposite to him, and saw that, though his face
was perfectly stern and calm, his eyes were fixed upon him with a
peculiar twinkling glitter.

"Bread, my boy?" he said quietly, and he took up a knife and the loaf.

"Try a French roll, Tom," said his aunt, handing the dish.

"How can I run away?" thought Tom, as he bent over his breakfast to try
and hide his agitation, for his breast was torn by conflicting emotions,
and it was all he could do to continue his meal. "It's of no use," he
said to himself, as the conversation went on at the table; and though he
heard but little, he knew that i