gesture. "Compound interest will run up to what seems a large amount at
first; every child knows that. You can't deny Cocker and calculating
tables, and that sort of thing. William Losely, you cannot leave an
eternal load of disgrace on the head of Charles Haughton's son."

"Poor Charlie Haughton," murmured Waife. "And I was feeling bitter
against his memory--bitter against his son. How Heaven loves to teach us
the injustice that dwells in anger! But--but--this cannot be. I thank
Mr. Darrell humbly--I cannot take his money."

"It is not his money--it is mine; he only advances it to me. It costs
him really nothing, for he deducts the L500 a year from the allowance he
makes me. And I don't want such an absurd allowance as I had before
going out of the Guards into the line--I mean to be a soldier in good
earnest. Too much pocket-money spoils a soldier--only gets one into
scrapes. Alban Morley says the same. Darrell, too, says, 'Right; no
gold could buy a luxury--like the payment of a father's debt!' You
cannot grudge me that luxury--you dare not--why? because you are an
honest Man."

"Softly, softly, softly," said Waife. "Let me look at you. Don't talk
of money now--don't let us think of money! What a look of your father!
'Tis he, 'tis he whom I see before me. Charlie's sweet bright playful
eyes--that might have turned aside from the path of duty--a sheriff's
officer! Ah! and Charlie's happy laugh, too, at the slightest joke! But
THIS is not Charlie's--it is all your own (touching, with gentle finger,
Lionel's broad truthful brow). Poor Charlie, he was grieved--you are
right--I remember."

"Sir," said Lionel, who was now on one knee by Waife's chair--"sir, I