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