e looked."

"Dear Mr. Gaythorne," returned Olivia, beseechingly, "indeed I must go
away now, unless you will consent to rest and let me read to you a
little."

"Well, well, do as you like," he replied, closing his eyes, "you all
tyrannise over the sick man, but perhaps I am a bit tired," and then
Olivia found a book and soon had the satisfaction of seeing him sink
into a peaceful sleep. What a grand face it looked with its fine
chiselled features and grey peaked beard lying against the dark red
cushions. Alwyn would never be such a handsome man as his father,
Olivia thought. There was power and intellect on the broad forehead,
the thin lips and obstinate chin were hidden under the drooping grey
moustache.

Olivia sat by him for some time, and then softly left the room. When
Marcus had paid his evening visit he was able to assure her that her
little visit had done his patient no harm.

Mr. Gaythorne had stipulated that he should see his son alone, but Dr.
Luttrell, who was keenly alive to the danger of any strong excitement,
had decided to remain in the house during the interview.

Alwyn seemed so unnerved and miserable that it was impossible to do
more than give him a word of warning.

"Say as little as possible, Gaythorne," he had observed as they walked
across together; "if you take my advice, you will just let bygones be
bygones. Don't be more emotional than you can help; remember how ill
he has been, very little excites him."

And though Alwyn only nodded in answer to this, Marcus was sure that he
understood him; but as he stood by the hall fire caressing Eros he
could not help feeling very anxious.

"They are neither of them to be trusted," he thought, and he determined
that if the talk were too prolonged he would make some excuse to go in
and interrupt them; then he raised his head uneasily and listened as
the sound of a man's stifled sobs reached his ear.

It was what he had feared, that Alwyn, weak and unstrung, would break
down utterly, and the next moment Dr. Luttrell had opened the door of
the library.

Neither of them perceived him as he stood for a moment, watching them
with keen professional eyes. Alwyn was kneeling with his face hidden
on his father's knees, and Mr. Gaythorne's clasped hands were resting
on his head. "My boy, we must both say it," he whispered. "Forgive us
our trespasses as we forgive them"--but Marcus heard no more, he closed
the door again softly--the scene was too