nry, were it for any other purpose but for throwing
away, I would not refuse. I am your father's best friend, and your
best friend, in wishing to restrain all extravagance."

"My dear father, she wishes to be economical, you know."

He dangled the purse, undecidedly, in his fingers.

"Will you give me the money at once, and let me go?" cried John
Lawson, elevating his voice.

"My dear Augusta, it is better--"

"Henry, do not, I beg of you."

"Henry, my son, will you let me have the money?"

"Indeed, Augusta--"

"Henry!"

Mrs. Lawson articulated but the one word; there was enough of energy
and determination in it to make her husband close the purse he had
almost opened.

"I ask you only this once more--give me the few shillings?"

John Lawson bent forward in an eager manner; a feverish red kindled
on his sallow cheeks; his eyes were wildly dilated, and his lips
compressed. There was a pause of some moments.

"You will not give it me?" he said, in a voice deep-toned and
singularly calm, as contrasted with his convulsed face.

Henry dangled the purse again in his hand, and looked uneasily and
irresolutely toward his wife.

"No, he will not give it--you will get no money to squander on poor
people this day," Mrs. Lawson said, in a very sharp and decided voice.

John Lawson did not say another word; he turned away and slowly
descended the stairs, and walked out of the house.

He did not return that evening. He had been seen on the road leading
to the house of a relative who was in rather poor circumstances. Henry
felt rather annoyed at his fathers absence; he had no depth in his
affection, but he had been accustomed to see him and hear his voice
every day, and therefore he missed him, but consoled himself with
the thought that they would soon meet again, as it never entered his
imagination that his father had quitted the house for a lengthened
period. Mrs. Lawson felicitated herself on the event, and hoped that
the old man would remain for some time with his relative.

The following day a letter was handed to Henry; it was from his
father, and was as follows:

"TO MY SON HENRY--I have at last come to the resolution of quitting
your house, which I can no longer call mine, in even the least degree.
For weeks--for months--ever since you married--ever since your wife
took upon herself what she calls the management of your house and
purse, I have felt bound down under the weight of an oppressive
bondage. I