--a young Oxford man, who was staying at the Vicarage, and who
was on the look-out for a mastership.

'I told Cyril that he had better discontinue his work,' he went on. 'If
it were not for Audrey, he could have made some sort of shift, and kept
on until the holidays; but it would never do to run the risk of another
scene between them: it would be bad for her, and it would be terrible
for him. It is an awkward complication, Mike; it would be better to get
him away as soon as possible.' And to this Michael assented.

He went round to the Gray Cottage soon after breakfast. Audrey was
watering her flowers in the hall. She looked at him as he passed her,
but did not speak; of course, she guessed his errand, for he saw her
head droop a little over the flowers.

Mollie received him. The poor girl's eyes were swollen with crying, and
she looked up in his face very piteously, as he greeted her with his
usual kindness.

'Where is your brother, Mollie?'

'Do you mean Cyril? He is in his room; but no one has seen him. Oh,
Captain Burnett, is it true? Mamma has been saying such dreadful
things, and we do not know whether we are to believe her. Biddy tries to
hush her, but she will go on talking; she is quiet now, and Kester and I
crept down here. Ah, there is Kester looking at us; he wants you to go
in and speak to him.'

'Is it true?' were Kester's first words when he saw his friend. The poor
lad's lips were quivering. 'Oh, Captain Burnett, do tell us that it is
not true!'

'I cannot do that, my boy,' returned Michael gravely; and then he sat
down and listened to what they had to tell him. He soon found that the
mother's wild ravings had told them the truth. In her despair at being
refused admittance to her son's room, she had given way to a frantic
outburst of emotion. Biddy had tried to get rid of them, but Kester and
Mollie had remained, almost petrified with horror. What could their
mother mean by telling them that she hated the sight of them, and
adjuring them to go to their father?

'Father is dead; does she wish us to be dead, too?' Mollie had faltered.
'Dear mamma, do let me go and fetch Cyril! You are ill; you do not know
what you are saying!' But as she turned to go, her mother had started
up, and gripped her arm so fiercely that the poor child could have
screamed with pain.

'Yes, you shall fetch him, but he will not come; he will not listen to
you any more than he would to me. When I implored him on my knees