t was about the guest departing that
morning for his home in Surrey.

"Yes," said Uncle Richard, "I must get back, for I'm very busy."

"And not stay another night?" said Aunt Fanny sweetly.

"No, not this visit, thanks. I'll get back in good time, and astonish
Mrs Fidler. Hallo, squire, you're late; Tom has half finished the
kidneys."

"Morning, uncle," said Sam sourly; "I didn't know it was so late. I've
got a bad headache this morning, ma."

"Have you, dear?--I am so sorry. But never mind, I've a nice strong cup
of tea here, and I'll ring for some dry toast."

"No, don't, ma," said Sam, scowling at Tom, and looking wonderingly at
his cousin's plate. "I'll have coffee and a hot roll."

"But they will be bad for your head, love."

Sam made no reply, but felt his plate, which was nearly cold, and then
held it out to his father for some kidneys.

"Oh, Sam, my darling, don't have kidneys, dear. I'm sure they'll be bad
for you."

"No, they won't, ma," he said pettishly; and his father helped him
liberally.

Uncle Richard went on with his breakfast, making believe to see nothing,
but Tom noticed that his keen eyes glittered, and that nothing escaped
him. Those eyes were wonderful, and fascinated the boy.

Suddenly, just as he had made a very poor breakfast, the clock on the
chimney-piece gave a loud _ting_. It was the half-hour, and Tom rose
quickly after a hasty glance at his uncle and aunt. He had had
breakfast for the last time, and feeling that this change of treatment
was only due to his Uncle Richard's presence, he was more determined
than ever to go.

"Good-bye, Uncle Richard," he said firmly, but there was a husky sound
in his voice.

"No, no, sit down, Tom," was the reply. "We won't say good-bye yet."

Sam stopped eating, with a bit of kidney half-way to his mouth, and
stared.

"Yes, sit down, Tom," said Mr Brandon, giving a premonitory cough,
after a glance at his wife. "The fact is, my lad, your uncle and I had
a little conversation about you after you were gone to bed last night."

Tom, who had subsided into his chair, took hold of the table-cloth, and
began to twist it up in his agitation, as a peculiar singing noise came
in his ears; and as he listened he kept on saying to himself--"Too
late--too late; I must keep to it now."

"Yes, a very long talk," said Uncle Richard.

"Very," acquiesced his brother; "and as we--as he--"

"As _we_, James," said Uncle Richard.

"Exactly