ing as his father before him. There had been no
lack of firmness, and no lack of love, but the result, as at
present seen, was terrible to the father and mother.

The squire heard the stifled sound of grief, and put out his hand
to clasp that of his wife.

"Remember he is the child of many prayers," he said. "We must
believe that those prayers will be answered. We must have faith in
God."

"I will try--I will try," answered the poor mother; "but oh, my
husband, how shall I hope to cope with that wild spirit when you
are gone?"

It was a hard question to answer, for the Squire himself had found
his son more than a match for him many a time. It was true that he
had done all that man can do to protect wife and daughter from the
reckless extravagance of an ungoverned nature; but he knew well
that Tom was not one to see himself tamely set aside. There were
difficulties ahead for these two women, and the future of his son
lay like a load upon his spirit.

"I would speak with Tom," he said, after a brief pause, during
which Rachel administered a draught of the cordial which did most
to support the failing strength of the dying man. Just at this
moment the lamp of life seemed to be glowing with fresh strength.
It was but the last flicker before extinction, and the wife knew
it, but Rachel experienced a glow of hope that perhaps it might
mean a temporary improvement.

"I will go and see if he has come," she said. "Perchance they have
found and brought him by now."

She glided from the room, just giving one backward glance in so
doing, when the expression on her mother's face brought a quick
spasm of pain to her heart. There was a strange conflict of feeling
going on within her, as she trod the corridor with swift steps, and
passed rapidly down into the hall beneath.

This hall was a great square place, with a glowing fire
illuminating it, the dancing shadows falling grotesquely upon the
pictured Tuftons that lined the walls, and upon the weapons which
hung, together with trophies of game, between them. In the centre
of the hall was an oak table, heavily carved about the legs, and at
this table stood a tall, broad-shouldered young man, clad in the
stout leathern breeches and full coat of the period, tossing off a
steaming tankard of some spirituous liquor, although the flush on
his face, and the slightly unsteady way in which he held the
vessel, seemed to indicate that he stood in no further need of
strong drink.