were rapidly crystallizing. He asked how long they had been on this visit to the Hall, who Sir Nick was, and who had told them their father was in the neighbourhood. The answers apparently relieving his mind, he bade them go and bring their mother and she would see what arrangements could be made for his removal. For one minute he had vowed he would go with them; but his unsteady legs soon persuaded the boys as well as himself that it was impossible.

'Get you gone, my sons," he said in a tone of relief as if their presence had somewhat of terror in it. "If you leave me now, I will snatch forty winks, and then shall be fitter for the journey."

Walter thereupon began to shake up the pillows.

"But, sir," said Horatio, and without any hesitation, "I pray you tell us first about the lieutenant. It's him we came to find, though Providence led us to you, sir. I vow we will waste no words upon him. But we've just got to tell him "—and here the boy's voice began to rise in anger-" that his conduct looks to the sons of a gentleman, just like it does to the sons of a fisherman."

You'd better let him be," said the man irritably; be sure he'll get his dues!

But," objected Horatio, and daring much in opposing his father, "it's only honourable to tell him that the King shall hear of it. vowed the King shall know. sir ? "

Walter and me have

And you'll see to it now,

Mr. Walrond sat up and smoothed the blanket nervously.

"Tell me first," he said, "what you know of him. Then I may be able to guess who the fellow is and where he's stationed. What makes you think he is somewhere hereabouts?"

Then between them they told once more the story. Their innocent yet fine wrath was the fiercest of all the lashings this unhappy man had borne since he sold out

from the Guards. The parson's preachings had been nothing to this, he thought: and then he realized the hateful fact that this very parson who had wormed his secret out of him and then insulted him, was Trevenna himself.

He threw himself back on his bed again, his mouth open and his eyes fixed upon nothing whatever.

"He's gone off into a swoon again," suddenly cried Walter, jumping up; but,

"No, my boy, I am only weary," he responded; "sick for the light of the morning-weary of it allweary, weary to death!-and now my sons, for their father's honour's sake have turned and judged him! . . . My God!”

The weakened man then covered his face with his long thin fingers. "His hands all fingers and sore begrimed!" said Walter afterwards. But now the boy flung himelf full length beside his father and began to weep. Horatio turned white, drew himself up, folded his arms and looked down upon his father with a look that was terrible in its dismay and anguish.

Weary of what, sir?" sobbed Walter. "Oh, weary of what?"

"Get up, boy!" said Mr. Walrond with a grim laugh; "or you'll make me play the woman also: and then what would my lady think of me?

Walter rose, caught sight of his brother, seized him by the arm, and, still fiercely crying, shook it as if to drag him from the grip of some terrible thing.

Go, my sons! You'll find no lieutenant here, but him you have found . . . an outcast from the world of fashion, from his home, from your own hearts! Oh, I am sick to death!-sick and disgusted with lifeas-you soon will be of me. Go, tell your mother I am here-go to the King "-he almost yelled at them -" and tell him this lieutenant has sold his royal justice to the Devil. Go, go! or I'll beat you."

The last words he hoarsely roared at them—and with

so terrible a look on his haggard visage, as he struggled up and set his bare legs on the ground, that they turned and fled, Horatio dragging at his brother's hand.

But in spite of their precipitation the boys had not gone far when Walter wrenched his hand from his brother's, shouted, "I've got something to tell him," and made his way back to the distant light, leaving Horatio to manage as best he could in the darkness.

The boy almost tumbled into the cabin. His father was still sitting bare-legged on the bed staring before him. Walter set down his lantern, and was on his knees instantly. Throwing his arms round the bare legs, he blurted out in rough-tumbling words the burden of his heart:

"Sir! sir! Me and Horry will never, never forget in all our life about that poor artilleryman you picked up and chucked on your back when you spiked that gun for him at Gib. It was a m-monstrous gallant thing to do, and all the fellows at Eton know about it, and we shall remember it to our dying day!"

The gaunt man looked down upon his son in such wise that the boy again broke into tears. Mr. Walrond lifted the wet face between his two hands, smiling lovingly at him and asked:

"And who told you that story, Walter? I had near forgotten it."

'Why, M-Madam, of course, sir," he answered with conviction. "She's told it to us m-many's the timeas if we could ever forget it!"

“Jehosophat!" exclaimed the sick man. "But sink me if I ever guessed my lady thought the better of me for it!"

"Why, sir," asserted the boy in surprise, and forgetting his impediment as he got up from his knees, "Madam always says she don't believe there's another officer in the Guards would have done so much for a poor private-man; 'twas that what made it so grand, she said."

"Get you after your brother now, dear son," said the man in so soft a voice that the boy flung his arms again round his father's bare legs and kissed his knees. "Get you gone and bring your mother as quick as may be."

He pulled the boy to his heart and thrust him away. Walter, accustomed to instant obedience, saluted. But as he did so the strange look of his father's bare legs and feet arrested him: they were so swollen and white and shiny, somehow shocking in contrast with the thin face and long-boned hands. Walter picked up his lantern and ran.

It was past eleven o'clock when they reached the Hall, famished for their breakfast.

THE

CHAPTER XXV

ESCAPE

HE boys gone, and with them the bright gleams of remembered happiness, the silence had been intolerable, but that Reginald Walrond's replenished stomach gave Dr. Ralph's drugs fresh efficacy. He fell into a short sleep and awakened with sense of renewed strength.

While collecting his thoughts, he became aware of distant voices in dispute-voices he did not know, but among which he distinguished the uncouth speech of the smugglers, though one voice, seemingly in command, was a Londoner's. Certainly not with such help would his wife seek him, and he feared the boys had been caught by the smugglers. In any case it was probable that this gang, whatever it was, was coming for him. If it were the smugglers, it was with no kind intent; for, he thought, it must again be night. Even if it were his own men, he would infinitely prefer to get home secretly. Then he could boldly face the music, and hush up, buy up, any accusers. He would, moreover, turn over that new leaf; and Evangeline perhaps at last would take pity and discover some affection for him.

Yes, his rescue by his own men would inevitably lead to publicity-certainly of his own escapade, probably of his ill-luck in hanging that poor lad.

This last point drove him to action. He must certainly get home. Then, if there was a warrant out