arted for London and
Bayswater, where Mat lived.

He came back earlier than Susan expected, and there was a sad look in
his eyes as he sat down and filled his pipe. Susan forbore to question
him at first; she got him some supper and a jug of the best ale, and
presently he began to talk of his own accord:

'There were other people living in No. 23 Mortimer Terrace. The O'Briens
had left more than a year ago, and no one knew where they were. Fancy
Mat leaving and never giving me his address!' finished Tom with an air
of deep depression.

He was evidently much wounded at this want of brotherly confidence.

'But surely you know his business address, dear?' Susan asked quietly.

No; Tom did not know even that. He reminded her that Mat had long ago
left his old employers, and had set up for himself; but Tom did not know
where his office was.

'I always wrote to his private address, you know, Susan,' he went on.
'Mat told me that no one ever opened his letters but himself; but how
am I to find him out now if he chooses to hide himself from his only
brother?'

And though Tom said no more, he moped for many a day after that
fruitless expedition.

By and by the truth leaked out--Mat was in trouble, and in such trouble
that no fraternal help could avail him. One awful day, a day that turned
Tom's hair gray with horror and anguish, he heard that Mat--handsome,
brilliant Mat--was in a felon's cell, condemned to penal servitude for a
long term of years. In a moment of despair he had forged the name of one
of his so-called friends, and by this terrible act had obtained
possession of a large sum of money.

Tom's anguish at this news was not to be described; he cried like a
child, and Susan vainly tried to comfort him.

'My father's name,' he kept repeating--'he has disgraced our honest
name! I will never forgive him; I will have nothing more to do with
him--he has covered us all with shame!'

And then the next moment he relented at the thought of Mat, beaten down
and miserable, and perhaps repentant, in his wretched cell.

CHAPTER X

PRISCILLA BAXTER

'How many people are busy in this world in gathering together a
handful of thorns to sit upon!'--JEREMY TAYLOR.

Audrey never forgot the day when she first heard this sad story. It was
on a winter's afternoon, and she and Mr. O'Brien were alone in the
cottage. She remembered how the setting sun threw ruddy streaks across
the snow, and how the light of