exciting the wrath of John Beacham of Updown Paddocks, had led to the calamitous blow from the effects of which he (the delinquent) was now suffering. How far the guilty man was justified in believing that his mother’s tender charity to sinners--a charity born of Christian humility--would cause her to view not only his fault, but the innocent victim of another’s sin, with eyes of compassion rather than those of severity and wrath, the following chapter will tend to make apparent. CHAPTER X. A GRANDMOTHER’S LOVE. “Don’t be frightened, my dear; don’t tremble so. You are with a friend, remember that; and with a relation too. Why, child,” and the eyes of the still warm-hearted woman brimmed over with the gladdest tears that she had known for years, “you are my grandchild!--my own, my only granddaughter! God bless you, my poor child; and may you be the joy and pride, instead of the grief and shame, of those who love you!” Honor was sitting by her newly-found relation (the relation in love though not in law, who had so generously opened to her her arms and heart) on an old black horse-hair sofa, in a little sitting-room adjoining the bed-chamber occupied by Colonel Norcott. The old lady--already predisposed to like and admire her--had been greatly struck, not only with the rare beauty, but with a certain shy and shrinking grace characteristic of her son’s child. The touch of Honor’s small trembling hand, and the kiss of her fresh girlish lips, had warmed Mrs. Baker’s heart to her at once. Yearningly, and for a long while prayerfully, had she longed for a child who would, all the days of her life, be unto her as a daughter. Her only child had never, from the days of his boyhood, been as a son to this poor loving mother, who, chancing to be one of the most weak and clinging of the daughters of Eve, could not be content with such poor sympathy as the eminently trustworthy but somewhat stern ex-lawyer was able to bestow. “You will come and see my son, Honor? Honor! what a pretty name!” and she stroked fondly the delicate fingers that lay within her own dry and wrinkled palm. “He has had a bad night and is very feverish. Dr. Kempshall says that he must be allowed to have his way, and--” “Did he tell you _everything_, ma’am?” interrupted Honor; “everything about--about--” and she hesitated painfully--“about my husband?”