Such scrapes, however, do not terrify a father when he is a man of the world, so much as they do an anxious mother; and, with more curiosity than alarm, Mr. Beaufort, after a short doze, found himself before the shop indicated. Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the door to the private entrance was ajar,--a circumstance which seemed very suspicious to Mr. Beaufort. He pushed it open with caution and timidity--a candle placed upon a chair in the narrow passage threw a sickly light over the flight of stairs, till swallowed up by the deep shadow from the sharp angle made by the ascent. Robert Beaufort stood a moment in some doubt whether to call, to knock, to recede, or to advance, when a step was heard upon the stairs above--it came nearer and nearer--a figure emerged from the shadow of the last landing-place, and Mr. Beaufort, to his great joy, recognised his son. Arthur did not, however, seem to perceive his father; and was about to pass him, when Mr. Beaufort laid his hand on his arm. “What means all this, Arthur? What place are you in? How you have alarmed us!” Arthur cast a look upon his father of sadness and reproach. “Father,” he said, in a tone that sounded stern--almost commanding--“I will show you where I have been; follow me--nay, I say, follow.” He turned, without another word re-ascended the stairs; and Mr. Beaufort, surprised and awed into mechanical obedience, did as his son desired. At the landing-place of the second floor, another long-wicked, neglected, ghastly candle emitted its cheerless ray. It gleamed through the open door of a small bedroom to the left, through which Beaufort perceived the forms of two women. One (it was the kindly maidservant) was seated on a chair, and weeping bitterly; the other (it was a hireling nurse, in the first and last day of her attendance) was unpinning her dingy shawl before she lay down to take a nap. She turned her vacant, listless face upon the two men, put on a doleful smile, and decently closed the door. “Where are we, I say, Arthur?” repeated Mr. Beaufort. Arthur took his father’s hand-drew him into a room to the right--and taking up the candle, placed it on a small table beside a bell, and said, “Here, sir--in the presence of Death!” Mr. Beaufort cast a hurried and fearful glance on the still, wan, serene face beneath his eyes, and recognised in that glance the features of the neglected and the once adored Catherine. “Yes--she, whom your brother so loved--the mother of his children--died in this squalid room, and far from her sons, in poverty, in sorrow! died of a broken heart! Was that well, father? Have you in this nothing to repent?” Conscience-stricken and appalled, the worldly man sank down on a seat beside the bed, and covered his face with his hands.