and the old man took the little white hand in his and kissed it
tenderly. "You go and do as I bid you, my pet," he said; "and you,
Burdon, wait for the note, take it over, and bring an answer."

"Yes, Sir John," I said quietly; and I heard Miss Virginia give a little
sob as she went and sat down and began writing. Then I saw that the
trouble was coming, and that there was to be a big quarrel between
father and son.

"Look here, father," says Mr Barclay, getting up and walking about the
room, "I never interfere with your affairs--"

"I should think not, sir," says the old man, very sarcastic-like.

"But I cannot sit here patiently and see you behave in so rude a way to
those four ladies who honour you by being your tenants."

"Say I feel greatly surprised that the rent was not sent over yesterday,
my dear," says Sir John, without taking any notice of his son.

"Yes, uncle," says Miss Virginia. She always called him "uncle," though
he wasn't any relation.

"It's shameful!" cried Mr Barclay. "The result will be that they will
give you notice and go."

"Good job, too," said Sir John. "I don't like them, and I wish they had
not come."

"How can you be so unreasonable, father?" cried the young man hotly.

"Look here, Bar," says Sir John--("Fold that letter and seal it with my
seal, 'Ginny")--"look here, Bar."

I glanced at the young man, and saw him pass his hand across his
forehead so roughly that the big signet ring he wore--the old-fashioned
one Sir John gave him many years before, and which fitted so tightly now
that it wouldn't come over the joint--made quite a red mark on his brow.

"I don't know what you are going to say, father," cried Mr Barclay
quickly; "but, for Heaven's sake, don't treat me as a boy any longer,
and I implore you not to send that letter."

There was a minute's silence, during which I could hear Mr Barclay
breathing hard. Then Sir John began again. "Look here, sir," he said.
"Over and over again, you've wanted to go away and travel, and I've said
I didn't want you to go. During the past three months you've altered
your mind."

"Altered my mind, sir?" says the young man sharply.

"Yes, sir; and I've altered mine. That's fair. Now, you don't want to
go, and I want you to."

"Uncle!"

"Have you done that letter, my pet?--Yes? That's well. Now, you stand
there and take care of me, for fear Mr Barclay should fly in a
passion."

"Sir, I asked you not to treat me like a