A mother's ears are quick; and Mrs. Burke detected the quiver that
Desmond tried to still. She tightened her clasp on his hot hand.

"Did he strike you, dear?"

"It was nothing, mother. I am used to that."

"My poor boy! But what angered him? Why do you offend your brother?"

"Offend him!" exclaimed the boy passionately, but still in a low tone.
"Everything I do offends him. I went to see General Clive; I wished to;
that is enough for Dick. Mother, I am sick of it all."

"Never mind, dear. A little patience. Dick doesn't understand you. You
should humor him, Desmond."

"Haven't I tried, mother? Haven't I? But what is the use? He treats me
worse than any carter on the farm. I drudge for him, and he bullies me,
miscalls me before the men, thrashes me--oh, mother! I can't endure it
any longer. Let me go away, anywhere; anything would be better than
this!"

Desmond was quivering with pain and indignation; only with difficulty did
he keep back the tears.

"Hush, Desmond!" said his mother. "Dick will hear you. You are tired out,
dear boy; go to bed; things will look brighter in the morning. Only have
patience. Good night, my son."