vessel, seemed to indicate that he stood in no further need of
strong drink.

Rachel came swiftly down the staircase, her footfall making
scarcely any sound upon the shallow polished steps.

"Tom!" she exclaimed, in a voice full of repressed feeling, "how
can you delay drinking here, when your father upstairs is dying,
and is asking for you?"

"Dying, quotha!" returned the young man, with a foolish laugh;
"methinks I have heard that tale somewhat too often to be scared by
it now, sweet sister!" and he patted her shoulder with a gesture
from which she instinctively recoiled.

"Tom, have you no heart? He will not last the night through. Got
you not our messages, sent hours ago? How can you show yourself so
careless--so cruel? But tarry no longer now you are here. He has
asked for you twice. Take care lest you dally too long!"

Something in Rachel's face and in her manner of speaking seemed to
make an impression upon the young roisterer. Tom was not drunk,
although he had been spending the day with comrades who seasoned
every sentence with an oath, and flavoured every pastime with
strong drink. A man with a weaker head might have been overcome by
the libations in which he had indulged, but Tom was a seasoned
vessel by that time, and he could stand a good deal.

He was in a noisy and reckless mood, but he had the command of his
faculties. He saw that his sister was speaking with conviction, and