cannot for a second time revert to it."

"Go on," I answered, yielding once more to his wish, and in the same
composed and quiet voice he _began_ again.

"The first watch which I called my own, was given to me on one of these
occasions. My father had requested me to execute some small commission. I
forgot to do it. In his eyes the fault for a moment assumed the form of
wilful disobedience. That moment was enough--he was roused--the paroxysm
prevailed--and I was beaten like a dog. An hour afterwards he was
persuaded that his child was not undutiful. His reason had returned to
him, and, with it a load of miserable remorse. He offered me, with a
tremulous hand, the bauble, which I accepted; and, as I took it, I saw a
weight of sorrow tumble from his unhappy breast. This was my father, sir.
A man who would have been the best of fathers--had he been permitted, as
his heart directed him, to be the tenderest of husbands. I could see in my
boyhood that blame attached to my mother--to what extent I did not know. I
lived in the hope of hearing at some future time. That time never came. I
remained at home two months, and then went back to school. I received a
letter from one of my father's clerks, who was an especial favourite of
mine. It must have been about a week after my departure. It told me that
my father had drooped since I quitted him. On the morning that I came
away, he left his business and locked himself in my bedroom. He was shut
up at least two hours there. Fifty different matters required his presence
in the counting-house, and at length my friend, the clerk, disturbed him.
When the door was opened he found his master, his eyes streaming with
tears, intent upon a little book in which he had seen me reading many days
before. Oh, it was like him, sir! Within a few days I received another
letter from the same hand. My father was dangerously ill, and I was
summoned home. I flew, and arrived to find him delirious. He had been