Hugh Ritson's lifted eyes had comprehended everything. The girl leaning over his father's arm; the pure, smooth cheeks close to the swarthy, weather-beaten, comfortable old face; the soft gaze upward full of feeling; the half-open lips and the teeth like pearls; then the glance round, half of mockery, half of protest, altogether of unconquerable love, to where Paul Ritson stood, his eyes just breaking into a smile; the head, the neck, the arms, the bosom still heaving gently after the race; the light loose costume--Hugh Ritson saw it all, and his heart beat fast. His pale face whitened at that moment, and his infirm foot trailed heavily on the gravel. Allan shook hands with Mr. Bonnithorne, and then turned to his sons. "Come, you two lads have not been gude friends latterly, and that's a sair grief baith to your mother and me. You're not made in the same mold seemingly. But you must mak' up your fratch, my lads, for your auld folks' sake, if nowt else." At this he stretched out both arms, as if with the intention of joining their hands. Hugh made a gesture of protestation. "I have no quarrel to make up," he said, and turned aside. Paul held out his hand. "Shake hands, Hugh," he said. Hugh took the proffered hand with unresponsive coldness. Paul glanced into his brother's face a moment, and said: "What's the use of breeding malice? It's a sort of live stock that's not worth its fodder, and it eats up everything." There was a scarcely perceptible curl on Hugh Ritson's lip, but he turned silently away. With head on his breast, he walked toward the porch. "Stop!" It was old Allan's voice. The deep tone betrayed the anger that was choking him. His face was flushed, his eyes were stern, his lips trembled. "Come back and shak' hands wi' thy brother reet." Hugh Ritson faced about, leaning heavily on his infirm foot. "Why to-day more than yesterday or to-morrow?" he said, calmly. "Come back, I tell thee!" shouted the old man more hotly. Hugh maintained his hold of himself, and said in a quiet and even voice, "I am no longer a child." "Then bear thysel' like a man--not like a whipped hound." The young man shuddered secretly from head to foot. His eyes flashed for an instant. Then, recovering his self-control, he said: "Even a dog would resent such language, sir." Greta had dropped aside from the painful scene, and for a moment Hugh Ritson's eyes followed her. "I'll have no sec worriment in my house," shouted the old man in a broken voice. "Those that live here must live at peace. Those that want war must go." Hugh Ritson could bear up no longer. "And what is your house to me, sir? What has it done for me? The world is wide." Old Allan was confounded. Silent, dumb, with great staring eyes, he looked round into the faces of those about him. Then in thick, choking tones he shouted: "Shak' thy brother's hand, or thou'rt no brother of his." "Perhaps not," said Hugh very quietly.