oor
fellow, and the room must be closed. It is a heavy loss to you too."

The Hindoo rose slowly, the tears streaming down his face.

"He was a good master," he said, "and I loved him just as I loved the
Colonel, sahib. Ramoo would have given his life for him."

With his hand upon Ramoo's shoulder, Mark left the room; he passed a
group of women huddled together with blanched faces, at a short distance
down the passage, the news that the Squire's door could not be opened
and the sounds made by its being broken in having called them together.
Mark could not speak. He silently shook his head and passed on. As
he reached his room he heard shrieks and cries behind him, as the men
informed them of what had taken place. On reaching his door, the one
opposite opened, and Mrs. Cunningham in a dressing gown came out.

"What is the matter, Mark, and what are these cries about?"

"A dreadful thing has happened, Mrs. Cunningham; my father has been
murdered in the night. Please tell Millicent."

Then he closed the door behind him, threw himself on his bed, and burst
into a passion of tears. The Squire had been a good father to him, and
had made him his friend and companion--a treatment rare indeed at a time
when few sons would think of sitting down in their father's presence
until told to do so. Since he had left school, eight years before, they
had been very much together. For the last two or three years Mark had
been a good deal out, but in this his father had encouraged him.

"I like to see you make your own friends, Mark, and go your own way," he
used to say; "it is as bad for a lad to be tied to his father's coattail
as at his mother's apron string. Get fresh ideas and form your own
opinions. It will do for you what a public school would have done; make
you self reliant, and independent."

Still, of course, a great portion of his time had been with his father,
and they often would ride round the estate together and talk to the
tenants, or walk in the gardens and forcing houses. Generally Mark would
be driven by his father to the meet if it took place within reasonable
distance, his horse being sent on beforehand by a groom, while of an
evening they would sit in the library, smoke their long pipes, and talk
over politics or the American and French wars.

All this was over. There was but one thing now that he could do for his
father, and that was to revenge his death, and at the thought he rose
from his bed impatiently an