"No, no, father, I am not cross, but you startled me by your words. Did she tell you to come to me?" "Yes, my boy, she--she's sadly altered, Luke, and so sweet and so humble. She wanted to go down on her knees to me, my boy, but I wouldn't let her." "Tell me all, father," cried Luke. "Why are you keeping this back?" "I--I daren't tell you, my boy, at first; I dare not, indeed." "Tell me now, quickly." "She told me to come to you, my boy; she said she had heard what a great counsel you had become." Luke made an impatient movement. "And she said that she had no one to appeal to in her sore distress." "I am not her friend," said Luke, coldly. "But you will be, my boy, when I tell you that, sobbing bitterly, she asked me to come to you, and if you had one spark of feeling for her left, to try and save her husband." "She bade you come and say this, father?" cried Luke, with the beads of perspiration standing upon his brow. "Yes, my son, for the sake of old times when you were girl and boy together." Luke drew his hand away, and leaping from the edge of the table where he had been sitting, began to pace the room once more, while the old man sat rubbing his hands up and down his knees and gazing at him aghast. Just then there was a sharp knock, and the boy entered. "Engaged," said Luke, angrily. "I can see no one;" and the boy disappeared as if in alarm. "I'm very, very sorry, my boy," faltered old Michael; "but--" Luke stopped before him in his hurried walk. "Tell me again, father. Did Sage Mallow say those words?" "Yes, my boy, almost word for word. She said she was in despair, that money could not help her, she wanted some one to save her husband." "Not to help her," said Luke, bitterly, "but to save that man." "Yes, my boy. It's very shocking, for I'm afraid he's a dreadful scamp; but you know what women are." "Yes," said Luke, with a laugh that startled his father, "I know what women are." "The bigger scamp a man is the more they hold by him. Perhaps it's quite right, but it's very shocking." "Help her to save him," muttered Luke. "I can't do it. I can--not do it." The old man had now rolled his handkerchief up into a ball, and was pressing it and kneading it between his hands, as he gazed helplessly in his son's face. "I think if she had seen you, and asked you herself, you would have done it, Luke, my boy. She said that she believed you could save her husband, and that if he was condemned--" "I tell you if he were ten times condemned," cried Luke, "I could not do it, father. It is madness to ask me, of all men, to fight on his behalf." "He--he did behave very badly to you, my boy. He's a bad one, I'm afraid; but he is that poor creatures husband." "The only enemy I ever had, and you ask me to save him. It is not in human nature to do it. Why do you come and ask me such a thing?"