e--' he might be brought to believe
me. He's an honest man himself, James--a very honest high-minded man
indeed. I must look where he lives,' he murmured, seeking for the
envelope his son had given him. 'He gave me his address.'

'His address, sir,' said Hornett. 'You could almost lay your hand on
him. He lives there. That's his window with the light in it.' Bommaney
moved to the window, and followed with his glance the direction of
Hornett's outstretched finger. There was a window a few feet higher than
the one at which he stood, and half-hidden from observation by a stone
parapet. A shadow obscured the light, and moved about the ceiling,
visible from below.

'I saw him there to-night, sir,' said Hornett 'I saw his face at the
window. He put a glass of flowers outside. That's his shadow moving
about there now.'

'Phil!' groaned the wretched father, straining his dirty wasted hands
together. 'Phil!'

'I'm not the figure, sir,' said Hornett, 'to call upon a gentleman like
Mr. Phil; nor yet are you, sir, if you'll excuse my saying so. But if
you'd let me go, sir, and put the case to him, he might come and see
you here, sir, and you might set yourself straight with him, sir, which
would at least,' the seedy man added, somewhat moved by the old man's
tears and tremblings, 'be an advantage to a father's heart.'

Bommaney stood in silence, looking upward. The moving shadow settled
itself upon the ceiling in a huge silhouette, distinctly traceable.
There was no doubting it was Phil's dear head that threw the shadow,
himself invisible, so near, so far. The foolish outcast's heart ached
bitterly, and he stretched both hands towards the shadow, not knowing
that he moved.

'Shall I venture, sir?' asked Mr. Hornett, more moved than ever, and
coughing to clear a little huskiness in the throat. 'Shall I venture,
sir, to look in on Mr. Phil in the morning?'

'Yes, go, James,' said Bommaney, sobbing outright by this time.
'Perhaps--perhaps he may believe me.'

V

When young Mr. Barter took time to think about things, he began,
for more reasons than one, to be sorry. It is necessary for the due
development of this history to go back a little, and to take up Mr.
Barter on the day following the commission of his crime. The young man
felt that he was unable to afford candour, and discreetly avoided the
naming of his own action. Eight thousand pounds is a sum which most
people would find tempting. Young Mr. Barter would ne