n on those confidential terms which bring some fathers and
sons so very close together. He felt that he had no business there
spying upon his father's privacy. He could not look at the papers which
lay before him. It seemed a wrong of the first magnitude, wrought
treacherously, because of the helplessness of the creature most
concerned. He could not do it. He thrust the papers back again into the
drawer. In point of fact there were no secrets in the papers, nor much
to be found out in Mr. May's private life. All its dark side might be
inferred from, without being revealed in, the little book which lay
innocently on the desk, and which Reginald looked over, thinking no
harm. In it there were two or three entries which at length roused his
curiosity. Cotsdean, October 10th. Cotsdean, January 12th. C. & T. April
18th. What did this mean? Reginald remembered to have seen Cotsdean
paying furtive visits in the study. He recollected him as one of the few
poor people for whom his father had a liking. But what could there be
between them? He was puzzled, and as Betsy was passing the open door at
the time, called her in. The evening was falling quickly, the day had
changed from a beautiful bright morning to a rainy gusty afternoon,
tearing the leaves and blossoms from the trees, and whirling now and
then a shower of snowy petals, beautiful but ill-omened snow, across the
dark window. Beyond that the firmament was dull; the clouds hung low,
and the day was gone before it ought. When Betsy came in she closed the
door, not fastening it, but still, Reginald felt, shutting him out too
much from the sick-bed, to which he might be called at any moment. But
he was not alarmed by this, though he remarked it. He questioned Betsy
closely as to his father's possible connection with this man. In such a
moment, confidential, half-whispered interviews are the rule of a house.
Every one has so much to ask; so much to say in reply; so many
particulars to comment upon which the rest may have forgotten. She would
have liked to enter upon the whole story, to tell how the master was
took, and how she herself had thought him looking bad when he came in;
but even to talk about Cotsdean was pleasant.

"I told Miss Beecham," said Betsy, "and I told the other gentleman, Mr.
Northcote, as was asking me all about it. It's months and months since
that Cotsdean got coming here--years I may say; and whenever he came
master looked bad. If you'll believe me, Mr.