are near."

"Who is this Eliot?" asked Stephen, as they went down the glen.

"The Colonel's eldest son, the only child by the first wife. His father
has heard nothing of him for several years; it is the grief of the old
man's life."

"What is he doing here?"

"Well, he is a wild boy--always was," said Brother Bethuel reluctantly.
"Lately he has been living with a gang of these whisky-men."

"And Miss Dooris knows it?"

"Yes. He was always fond of Honor when she was a child, and latterly he
has--has fallen into a way of depending upon her."

"Why does he not come out of the woods, go to work, and behave like a
civilized man?" said Wainwright, in a tone of disgust. "I have no
patience with such fellows."

"Oh, yes, you have," said Brother Bethuel earnestly. "You are going to
help him, you know."

"Well, we will send him far enough away this time--to Australia, if he
will go," said Stephen. "The country will be well rid of him."

"You do not, perhaps, understand exactly," said Brother Bethuel timidly,
after a moment's silence. "Eliot fought all through the war--fought
bravely, nobly. But, when peace came, there seemed to be no place for
him. He was not adapted to--to commerce; he felt it a degradation. Hence
his present position. But he did not choose it voluntarily; he--he
drifted into it."

"Yes, as you say, drifted," said Stephen dryly. "Will the other men get
away in time?"

"Oh, yes; they are already gone. There is a cave, and a passage upward
through clefts in the rocks to the glen where their still is; it is a
natural hiding-place. But they will not even stay there; they will go to
another of their haunts."

"Where?"

"Thank the Lord, I do not know! really and truly, I do not know,"
ejaculated the little minister fervently. "My only interest in them, the
only charge upon my conscience, has been Eliot himself. You do not
understand, and I may not be able to explain it to you, Mr. Wainwright,
but--I love the Eliots! I have loved them all my life. I was born upon
their land, I revered them in childhood, I honored them in youth, I love
them in age. They bear one of our great State names; they have been our
rulers and our leaders for generations. I love them, every one."
Wainwright made no answer; the little man went on: "This son has been a
sad, wild boy always--has nearly broken his father's heart. But he is an
Eliot still; the little I can do for him I will do gladly until I die."

"Or until he do