for a
while the significance of his wonderful dream, she felt happy in his
presence and in his affection for her.

The evening had sped on with surprising rapidity while all these
matters were being discussed, and as it drew near to midnight again
Robert Hardy felt almost happy in the atmosphere of that home and the
thought that he could still for a little while create joy for those who
loved him. Suddenly he spoke of his other son:

"I wish George would come in. Then our family circle would be
complete. But it is bedtime for you, Bess, and all of us, for that
matter."

It was just then that steps were heard on the front porch, and voices
were heard as if talking in whispers. The bell rang. Mr. Hardy rose
to go to the door. His wife clung to him terrified.

"Oh, don't go, Robert! I am afraid for you."

"Why, Mary, it cannot be anything to harm me. Don't be alarmed."

Nevertheless he was a little startled. The day had been a trying one
for him. He went to the door, his wife and the children following him
close behind. He threw it wide open, and there, supported by two of
his companions, one of them the young man Mr. Hardy had seen in the
hotel lobby at noon, was his son George, too drunk to stand alone! He
leered into the face of his father and mother with a drunken look that
froze their souls with despair, as the blaze of the hall lamp fell upon
him reeling there.

So the first of Robert Hardy's seven days came to an end.

TUESDAY--THE SECOND DAY.

Mr. Hardy was a man of great will power, but this scene with his
drunken son crushed him for a moment, and seemed to take the very soul
out of him. Mrs. Hardy at first uttered a wild cry and then ran
forward, and, seizing her elder boy, almost dragged him into the house,
while Mr. Hardy, recovering from his first shock, looked sternly at the
companions of the boy and then shut the door. That night was a night
of sorrow in that family. The sorrow of death is not to be compared
with it.

But morning came, as it comes alike to the condemned criminal and to
the pure-hearted child on a holiday, and after a brief and troubled
rest Mr. Hardy awoke to his second day, the memory of the night coming
to him at first as an ugly dream, but afterwards as a terrible reality.
His boy drunk! He could not make it seem possible. Yet there in the
next room he lay, in a drunken stupor, sleeping off the effects of his
debauch of the night before. Mr. Hardy fell