be seeking to draw down upon yourself! What will the end be like,
if this is the beginning?"

The flames leapt up with a sudden ruddy glow. The room had been
dark before; now it was suddenly flooded with a brilliant
palpitating light. As Rachel turned back to the bed, she saw that
her father's eyes had opened. The mists of weakness no longer
seemed to cloud his sight. He was looking round him with
comprehension and observation.

"Where is Tom?"

It was the question they had been expecting all day. It was in
anticipation of this that messengers had been scouring the
neighbourhood in search of that young ne'er-do-well, Tom Tufton,
the good Squire's unworthy son.

And yet, unworthy as he was--idle, reckless, dissipated, a source
of pain and anxiety to father, mother, and sister--young Tom was
beloved by the people in and about his home, albeit they all shook
their heads over his follies and wildness, and wondered with bated
breath what would befall Gablehurst when the young master should be
lord of all.

"Where is Tom?" asked the Squire, in a firmer voice than they had
thought to hear again.

"Dear father, we have sent for him," answered Rachel soothingly;
"he will be here anon."