CHAPTER VI.

FATHER AND SON.

IN a moment Gerald was knocking at the study door.

"May I come in, dad?" cried his rather shrill tones.

The watchers down below heard an exclamation of impatience, and then the peevish voice, "Those tiresome brats again!"

"Come in—if you must!" cried Mr. Ellis at last, and Gerald entered.

"Well, child, and what now?" said the father, putting down a magnifying glass with which he was examining an old silver amulet.

"Please, dad," said the boy, "Brother Bob's here, and he's quite come back from the bad—you know—where he went, and Dina and I and nurse want him to come home for good. He won't give you any trouble," went on Gerald, "and he won't meddle with any of your treasures, and I shouldn't wonder if he'd teach us twins, and save you the expense of a governess, so you'd have more money to spend on—" here Gerald looked round the room—"well, on the nasty things you like."

It was not a very happy finish to his sentence, but it struck him that, happy or not, Mr. Ellis did not hear it. At the mention of Bob's name, he had risen from his seat, his face full of anger.

"Bob here?" he exclaimed. "How dare he? Tell him—no—I'll see him myself! Go down, Gerald!"

And as the boy went, Mr. Ellis came to the top of the stairs, and called in a cold, hard voice, "Robert, come up here."

"No good won't come of this, I'm afraid!" said nurse.

Bob said nothing; his face wore a strange mingling of expressions as he went upstairs.

"Come in and shut the door," said Mr. Ellis, going before him into the room.

Bob obeyed.

"Now, sir, what does this visit mean? Did I not forbid you my house?"

"You did, sir, and I had no intention of intruding upon you. All I came for was some old letters of my mother's and grandmother's, and a few trifles which had been theirs. I meant to see nurse and ask for these, but I met the children, and they would not be content unless I waited to see you."

"And you were foolish enough to yield to their wish?"

"I was, sir," rejoined the young man in a voice trembling with emotion. "And after all, am I not your son?"

"You are—worse luck for me! And a prodigal son at that!"

"Since you refer to the prodigal, sir," said Bob "might I venture to remind you how the father in the parable received his repentant son?"

"I object to Scripture being dragged into every day life," said Mr. Ellis. "Still, as you are here, I'll hear what you have to say. No one shall call me unjust or unfair." And he drew himself up with a gesture and half-smile of self-righteousness that might well have been those of the proud Pharisee in the parable when, standing and praying with himself, he said, "Lord, I thank Thee that I am not as other men are."

"Thank you, sir," said Bob. "I've only to tell you that I'm sorry for the past; I know I've behaved badly; but I'd be glad to give up my companions and my shady means of living, if I might come home."

"I dare say you would," replied Mr. Ellis; "they all say that, and I can't trust you. No—as you made your bed, you must lie on it. It would be robbing myself and the rest if I took you back."

"One moment, father. Hear me out before you send me back to the old sins and sorrows again. I want to be different from what I've been. I want to earn an honest living. Give me a chance! Oh, father, for God's sake, for my poor soul's sake, give me just one chance. Let me come home?"

The passionate entreaty of the young voice touched, to some extent, even the hard heart of Mr. Ellis, but the momentary feeling was instantly swallowed up by the pride and selfishness which were making him the meanest of men.

"I owe it to myself," said he coldly, "not to turn my house into a reformatory, and I cannot, therefore, receive you here. I give you this five-pound note, which you will please to regard as a farewell present, and under no pretext are you to come here again."

"But, father, for pity's sake—"

"Enough, Robert! I will hear no more."

"Then there's nothing for me but to go—to the bad!" cried the young man despairingly.

"Really," replied Mr. Ellis, "things being as they are, that's your affair, not mine."

Then the door opened, and Bob ran downstairs.

"Don't stop me, children! It's all up with me!" he sobbed, as the twins clung to his arm. "I'm a poor outcast, whom no one loves. I'm going to the bad again."

Throwing off the little clinging hands, while great tears ran down his pale cheeks, he opened the hall door and sprang out.

He was already in the dark of the shrubbery path, when he felt a little, soft, warm hand steal into his own, and Dina's voice whispered, "You mustn't think nobody loves you, Brother Bob; I love you ever so much; and I'm going to pray to God for you every day, just as I used for dear mother. Won't you kiss me, please?"

Brother Bob stooped and kissed his little sister, and tried to speak, but could not—and so passed on alone into the night.