come to it; but, Hector, tell me, tell me what is

it all for?"

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Will you get it, or tell me where it is?" said the other, sternly.

Margaret heard a drawer opened amid subdued sobbing.

"There, my son, take it, and God's blessing go with it."

"Hold your tongue," cried the man's voice, fiercely. "Is this a night for blessings, think you? Give me the money. Is this all ?"

There was a bitter disappointment in the tone. "Yes, all; and enough, sure, Hector, from your small savings. I did not want it; if I took it of you, it was meaning to turn it some day to your comfort or hers."

A cry of fear and grief followed the last word. "O Hector! would you lift your hand against

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your mother?"

"Who were you naming, then?" asked Hector,

hoarsely. "This money is all you have, you say

say?"

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Nay, there's a few shillings in my pocket;

but if you're to be long away

"Your mother is to starve or beg her bread. Well, Hector, if I can bear this cruelty to-night, I can bear that.”

"Peace, woman; if you cannot help, don't hinder me," said Hector, with a kind of savage

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entreaty. My knife, where is that? I can find nothing.

Hector, Hector, my son, my only bairn, speak to your mother," cried the old woman, in a voice that shook Margaret's frame from head to foot. "Only tell me what is this journey you would take. On my knees I ask it, Hector. Oh! can you see this grey head bent before you, my child, and deny me? Answer, Hector; what is this

you

would do? Tell me tell me."

"I can tell you nothing; I know nothing my

self yet; nothing but that they played with wild fire when they played with me!"

Making a desperate effort, Margaret rose to her feet, and with her stiff, clenched hand, knocked at the door.

The night wind whistled softly round the lonely house, and lifted the dark hair of the lonely figure waiting at the door.

She had knocked, but so timidly, she began in her great fear to hope her knock might not have been heard within.

Through the two sounds of the wind and sea she listened intently.

Her heart beat fast, for she knew, she felt, that those within were listening also.

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say.

What was that?" she heard the man's voice "Did some one knock?"

Nay, Hector, nay!" cried the old woman. "I heard no knock. It was but the seaweed on the door being lifted by the wind.”

The trembling listener heard a half-muttered word of impatience and disbelief, and then a heavy step coming towards the door.

"Stay, Hector!" cried the old woman, with sudden energy; "let me go; it may be Brackley. Oh! don't go to let him or any living creature see your face as it is to-night !"

Brackley was a coastguard and an old friend of Hector Browne, who dropped in late to light his pipe or warm his hands by the sailor's fire.

As Margaret cowered down a little on one side where she had shrunk when she heard that heavy footstep approaching, the door suddenly opened, a thin, bent form stood in the doorway, and a voice, full of anguish and despair and piteous weakness, cried out

"If any knocked at this door I warn them to go away, for there is great sorrow in this house -sorrow nigh to madness."

And the door was suddenly shut and barred.

If she had stayed but a minute, a daughter's hands had clutched at her skirts, a daughter's

tears had bathed her feet. But she had gone; the door was closed ; the poor outcast fell before it, smothering her sobs against the

stones.

Again and again she heard the mother's wailing cry of

"Hector! Hector! speak to me!" and the heavy, heedless footstep moving about hither and thither.

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answer once.

Speak to you!" she heard the deep voice "What of ?-my thoughts? They might scare you, mother; you had best not hear them."

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Of yourself, Hector-of this journey you are going. I am old, Hector; my span is almost run out. You will kill me if you leave me without telling me where you are going."