'"That is no answer to my question," cried the wretched father, tightening his grasp upon the old man's arm. "I do not ask you to palliate his guilt. It admits of no excuse. Did you see him do it? Tell me that--tell me quickly. I am in no humour for trifling." '"Ay, seeing is believing," said the old man, sullenly. "As your reverence knows the worst, it is of no use hiding the details. I saw Master George take the money." 'The Doctor groaned in anguish of spirit. '"How--when--where did you see him do it? May you not have been mistaken?" '"Impossible, sir. I would not advance a thing of this nature without I had positive proof. I repeat to you again, on my word of honour, on the faith of a Christian, that I saw him do it. What more do you require?" '"It is enough," sighed the miserable father, covering his face with his hands. "George, George! my son, my only son; have I deserved this at your hands? The trial is too great for flesh and blood to bear. O my God! my just and righteous God! Thou hast shattered my idol of clay to pieces, and my heart lies broken and trampled in the dust. Ralph, tell the wretched boy to come to me directly." 'The old man hesitated. "Not while you are in this excited state, my dear master. Wait a while, until your passion calms down; it is apt to betray you into sin. I implore you to deal leniently with the lad. Remember it is his first offence. He may repent, and you may save your son." '"Yes; if I could believe that it was his first offence. The same thing happened at Christmas. He has become hardened in successful villany. The crime is not against me alone; it is against the Church, and must be punished accordingly. Don't raise your hands in that deprecating manner, Ralph, or attempt to plead for him," and he stamped his foot impatiently; "I must and will be obeyed. Why do you loiter, old man? Go for him directly." 'Just then a rap came to the door. 'Ralph opened it, for he knew the step, and the accused stood before them, smiling and serene, unconscious of the thunder-clouds that lowered above his head. He advanced a few paces into the room, then stood still. His eyes wandered from his father's death-pale face to the downcast countenance of the old serving-man. Surprised and distressed, he wondered what it could mean. His mother had been confined to her chamber for some days with a serious attack of lung disease. The doctor had just seen her, and pronounced her out of danger; he came to bring the glad tidings to his father. The first thought that struck him was, that anxiety about her had produced the dreadful agitation that his father, with all his stoical philosophy, found it impossible to restrain, and which was so painful for him to witness. He hurried to his side. "Don't be alarmed, my dear father, mamma is better. She sent me to tell you so, and that she wishes to see you for a few minutes."