to him to the Carlton, and not only refused to allow
his wife to come to him, but would not let her know where he was
lodging. He promised, however, to join his family when the move from the
Towers had been made.

On the day when Antonia met him, he was feeling more wretched even than
usual. He had never hitherto been a weak or undecided man, but now he
was completely limp--there was no other word to describe his condition.
Antonia's firmness compelled him to obey her, and he found himself
against his will in Nora's company. Nora was not his favourite child;
she was not like Molly to him, nor like Nell and Boris, still she was
one of his children, and his heart throbbed with a great wave of pain
when he saw her.

"My poor little girl," he said, kissing her tenderly, "my poor dear
little girl. I have been a bad father to you, my little Nora."

"Oh, no, no, father," said Nora, sobbing now, and much overcome. "No,
no, dear, darling father; I'm so delighted, so delighted to see you
again."

The Squire sat down on the sofa near Nora, and putting his arm round
her, drew her pretty head to rest on his breast.

"So you are staying in town," he said, "quite close to me; and how--how
are the others, my dear?"

"Quite well," replied Nora "only fretting about you."

"About me? They needn't do that--I'm not worth it. You're sure your
mother is quite well, Nora?"

"Yes."

"And Molly?"

"Yes, quite well."

"And the young 'uns, Nell and Boris?"

"Oh, they're well, only Nell frets a good bit."

"Poor child, poor child; bless her, she's a loving little soul. I
suppose Guy is awfully cut up, eh, Nonie?"

"Oh, father, indeed he's not. Guy is too much of a man--he's splendid,
he is, really. I wish you'd go back again, father, that's all they want.
It's you they want, not the Towers--you are more to them than the
Towers."

"You're a good child to say so," said the Squire; "but I can't go back
at present. When I think of that place going out of the family, I feel
like an unfaithful steward. It was committed to me to keep and to hand
on intact to my boy, and I've lost him his inheritance. You none of you
know what it means; but I can't go back--not at present."

"May I write and tell mother where you are?"

"No; she writes to me to the Carlton--I'm all right; don't you worry
about me, pet."

"You don't look all right--you look very ill."

"See here, Nora, don't you write home and tell them that--promise."

The Squi