"It was your duty, my boy, and you did that duty," cried the old man, quickly. "I will not hear you speak like that." "And Sage--his wife," groaned Luke, not hearing, apparently, his father's words. "Father, the memory of my old love for her has clung to me ever. I have been true to that memory, loving still the sweet, bright girl I knew before that man came between us like a black shadow and clouded the sunshine of my life." He stopped, and let his head rest upon his hand. "My love for her has never failed, father, but is as fresh and bright now as it was upon the day when I came up here to town ready for the long struggle I felt that I should have before I could seek her for my wife. That love, I tell you, is as fresh and warm now as it was that day, but it has always been the love of one suddenly cut off from me-- the love of one I looked upon as dead. For that evening, when I met them in the Kilby lane, Sage Portlock died to me, and the days I mourned were as for one who had passed away." "My boy, my boy, I know. He did come between you, and seemed to blight your life, but he is punished now." "Punished? No," said Luke, excitedly; "it is not the man I have punished, but his wife. Father, that sorrowing, reproachful look she directed at me this morning will cling to me to my dying day. I cannot bear it. I feel as if the memory would drive me mad." He started up, and paced the room in an agony of mind that alarmed old Michael, who sought in vain to utter soothing words. At last, as if recalled to himself by the feeling that he was neglecting the trembling old man before him, Luke made an effort to master the thoughts that troubled him, and they were about to go out together, when the boy announced two visitors, and Luke shrank back unnerved once more, on finding that they were the Reverend Eli Mallow and his old Churchwarden. "I did not know his father was in town," said Luke, in a low voice. "Yes, my boy, he sat back, poor fellow. He looks very old and weak," said Michael Ross, in a quiet patronising way. "He is a good deal broken, my boy. Speak kindly to him, pray." "What do they want?" said Luke. "Oh, father, what have I done that fate should serve me such an ugly turn?" "Your duty, my boy, your duty," whispered the old man; and the next minute the visitors were in the room, finding, as they entered, that old Michael was holding his son's arm in a tender, proud way that seemed to fix the old Rector's eyes. He was, indeed, old-looking and broken; sadly changed from the fine, handsome, greyheaded man that Luke knew so well. "I met Mr Mallow almost at your door," said Portlock, in his bluff, firm way. "We did not come together, but we both wanted to call." Luke pointed to chairs, but the old Rector remained standing, gazing reproachfully at Luke.