nage, and the rector was seated by
the fire, with his face buried in his hands. Netty came quietly to his
side.

"Father, something serious is the matter with mother. You've had news
from the war. What is it--nothing has happened to Harry?"

"No, child--your brother."

"Oh!"

The unguarded exclamation expressed a world of relief. Then, Netty's
shallow brain commenced to work, and she murmured:

"Is Dick wounded or--?"

"The worst, Netty dear. He is gone."

He spoke with his face still hidden. "Go to your mother," he pleaded, for
he wished to be alone.

A furious anger against the war--against all war and bloodshed, was
rising up within him. All a father's protective instinct of his offspring
burst forth. Revenge entered into his soul. He beat the air with clenched
fists, and with distended eyes saw the muzzles of rifles presented at his
helpless boy.

Of a sudden, he remembered Mr. Barnby's accusation against his son's
honor. The horrible, abominable suggestion of forgery.

Everybody seemed to have been against the boy. How could Dick have forged
his grandfather's signature? Herresford, who was always down on Dick, had
made an infamous charge--the result of a delusion in his dotage. It
mattered little now, or nothing. Yet, everything mattered that touched
the honor of his boy. It was disgraceful, disgusting, cruel.

Netty had gone to her own room, weeping limpid, emotional tears, with no
salt of sorrow in them. The mother was in the drawing-room, sobbing as
though her heart would break. A chill swept over the house. In the
kitchen, there was silence, broken by an occasional cry of grief.

The rector pulled himself together, and went to his wife. He found her
in a state of collapse on the hearth-rug, and lifted her up gently. He
had no intention of telling her of Barnby's mistake, or of uttering words
of comfort. In the thousand and one recollections that surged through his
brain touching his boy, words seemed superfluous.

He put his arm tenderly around the queenly wife of whom he was so proud,
for she was more precious to him than any child--and led her back to his
study. He drew forward a little footstool by the fire, which was a
favorite seat with her, and placed her there at his feet, while he sat in
the tub chair; and she rested between his knees, in the old way of years
ago, when they were lovers, and gossiped over the fire after all the
house was quiet and little golden-haired Dick was fast asleep