"Man, man," cried Philip, restraining the fury that shook him from head to foot, "I care not for your threats--I scarcely hear your abuse--your son, or yourself, has stolen away my brother: tell me only where he is; let me see him once more. Do not drive me hence, without one word of justice, of pity. I implore you--on my knees I implore you--yes, I,--I implore you, Robert Beaufort, to have mercy on your brother's son. Where is Sidney?" Like all mean and cowardly men, Robert Beaufort was rather encouraged than softened by Philip's abrupt humility. "I know nothing of your brother; and if this is not all some villainous trick--which it may be--I am heartily rejoiced that he, poor child! is rescued from the contamination of such a companion," answered Beaufort. "I am at your feet still; again, for the last time, clinging to you a suppliant: I pray you to tell me the truth." Mr. Beaufort, more and more exasperated by Morton's forbearance, raised his hand as if to strike; when, at that moment, one hitherto unobserved-- one who, terrified by the scene she had witnessed but could not comprehend, had slunk into a dark corner of the room,--now came from her retreat. And a child's soft voice was heard, saying: "Do not strike him, papa!--let him have his brother!" Mr. Beaufort's arm fell to his side: kneeling before him, and by the outcast's side, was his own young daughter; she had crept into the room unobserved, when her father entered. Through the dim shadows, relieved only by the red and fitful gleam of the fire, he saw her fair meek face looking up wistfully at his own, with tears of excitement, and perhaps of pity--for children have a quick insight into the reality of grief in those not far removed from their own years--glistening in her soft eyes. Philip looked round bewildered, and he saw that face which seemed to him, at such a time, like the face of an angel. "Hear her!" he murmured: "Oh, hear her! For her sake, do not sever one orphan from the other!" "Take away that child, Mrs. Beaufort," cried Robert, angrily. "Will you let her disgrace herself thus? And you, sir, begone from this roof; and when you can approach me with due respect, I will give you, as I said I would, the means to get an honest living." Philip rose; Mrs. Beaufort had already led away her daughter, and she took that opportunity of sending in the servants: their forms filled up the doorway. "Will you go?" continued Mr. Beaufort, more and more emboldened, as he saw the menials at hand, "or shall they expel you?" "It is enough, sir," said Philip, with a sudden calm and dignity that surprised and almost awed his uncle. "My father, if the dead yet watch over the living, has seen and heard you. There will come a day for justice. Out of my path, hirelings!"