temptation, and went to the theatre. On returning home about eleven
o'clock, he found his father sitting up for him. To the stern
interrogation as to where he had been so late, he replied with
equivocation, and finally with direct falsehood.

"Andrew," said Mr. Howland, at length, speaking with unusual
severity of tone, and with a deliberation and emphasis that
indicated a higher degree of earnestness than usual, "if you are out
again until after ten o'clock, you remain out all night. To this my
mind is fully made up. So act your own good pleasure."

The father and son then separated.

Ten o'clock came on the next night, and Andrew had not returned. For
the half hour preceding the stroke of the clock, Mr. Howland had
walked the floor uneasily, with his ear harkening anxiously for the
sound of the bell that marked his son's return; and, as the time
drew nearer and nearer, he half repented the utterance of a law,
that, if broken, could not, he feared, but result in injury to the
disobedient boy. At last the clock struck ten. He paused and stood
listening for over a minute; then he resumed his walk again, and
continued his measured paces for over ten minutes longer, intending
to give his erring son the benefit of that space of time. But he
yielded thus much in his favor in vain. Anger at this deliberate
disobedience of a positive order then displaced a portion of
anxiety, and he closed, mentally, the door upon his child for that
night.

Of his purpose, Mr. Howland said nothing to his wife. He hoped that
she would be asleep before Andrew returned, if he returned at all