"But we can't, my dear. It is impossible," cried the Rector. Mrs Mallow was silent, and the Rector left the room. Five minutes later, in obedience to her summons, Cyril was at his mother's side, talking to her in a depressed but very determined way. "Go back with Frank, Cyril!" she said, piteously. "It would break my heart." "You said that it would break if I were to die." "Yes," she faltered. "Well, I shall die naturally or unnaturally if I stop here," he said coldly. "I cannot bear it any longer. You know how I have tried." Mrs Mallow laid her hand upon her side. "Then you must fight against all that pain and suffering for my sake, mamma dear," he said, bending over her, and kissing her tenderly. "But you will take this post, Cyril?" she said, imploringly. "What?" he cried, angrily. "No, I am going back to the other side of the world." He strode out of the room, and for the next two or three days there was misery in the house. Cyril was ill, and kept his bed, and his fond mother, who believed in him thoroughly, seeing nothing in his nature but a little wilfulness, was in agony till, after a series of long consultations with the Rector, the latter gave way. "If we do consent, I am sure all will be well," said Mrs Mallow, feebly. "If I give way, will he promise to take the clerkship?" said the Rector. "Artingale will never forgive me if it is thrown up. He said that he had to beg for it humbly, and that he would never have done it but for me." "I will undertake to say that he will," said Mrs Mallow. Just then the Rector sniffed. "What is it, dear?" exclaimed the invalid. "I smell burning," he said. "Fire, dear?" she exclaimed, excitedly, as she thought of her helpless condition. "No, dear," he said: "smoke." "Then there must be fire," she cried, clinging to his hands. "No, no," he said, trying to soothe her alarm. "It is tobacco. Surely Cyril would not smoke up-stairs?" "Oh, no, dear; and he is too ill," said the fond mother. "Poor boy!" "Then it must have been Frank down-stairs," said the Rector. "But to go back. Now, look here, dear, can you guarantee that?" "I am sure I can." "But it is such a descent. Think of Lord Artingale." "Don't say that, dear," said Mrs Mallow. "I have thought over it so long. You say yourself that she is a good, sweet girl, and I am sure when I saw her I thought so, too. Well, then, why should pride stand in the way?" "Yes, she is very nice," said the Rector, "and I am willing to forget all about birth and position; but then there are our girls." "But if it is to be the winning of our boy to the life we wish him to lead? I'm sure he loves her very dearly." "Better than himself," said the Rector, bitterly.