The old man gave a short cough, with a start. The audacity of tendering advice so freely and positively overcame him; and his color, faint indeed, rose to his withered cheek, and his eye glittered as he said, “Might I have the benefit of hearing the reasons which have led you to this opinion?” “First of all,” said Tom, in a careless off-hand way, “I take it the thing would have more--what shall I say?--dignity; secondly, the men who have signed the address might feel they were treated with more consideration; and lastly,--it 's not a very good reason, but I 'm bound to own it,--I 'd like to hear it myself, which I could if it were delivered in public, but which I am not so likely to do if spoken here.” “Oh, Tom, dear Tom!” whispered his sister, in dismay at a speech so certain to be accepted in its least pleasing signification. “You have already to-day reminded me of my deficiencies in hospitality, sir. This second admonition was uncalled for. It is happy for _me_ that my defence is unassailable. It is happy for _you_ that your impeachment is unwitnessed.” “You have mistaken me, sir,” said Tom, eagerly. “I never thought of reflecting on your hospitality. I simply meant to say that as I find myself here to-day by a lucky accident, I scarcely look to Fortune to do me such another good turn in a hurry.” “Your father's fault--a fault that would have shipwrecked fourfold more ability than ever he possessed--was a timidity that went to very cowardice. He had no faith in himself, and he inspired no confidence in others. Yours is, if possible, a worse failing. You have boldness without knowledge. You have the rashness that provokes a peril, and no part of the skill that teaches how to meet it. It was with a wise prescience that I saw we should not be safe company for each other.” He arose as he spoke, and, motioning back Lucy as she approached to offer her arm, he tottered from the room, to all seeming more overcome by passion than even by years and infirmity. “Well!” said Tom, as he threw his napkin on the table, and pushed his chair back, “I 'll be shot if I know how I provoked that burst of anger, or to what I owe that very neat and candid appreciation of my character.” Lucy threw her arm around his neck, and, bending over his shoulder till her face touched his own, said, “Oh, my dearest Tom, if you only knew how nervous and susceptible he is, in part from his nature, but more, far more, from suffering and sorrow! Left to the solitude of his own bitter thoughts for years, without one creature to whisper a kind word or a hopeful thought, is it any wonder if his heart has begun to consume itself?” “Devilish bitter diet it must find it! Pass me over the Madeira, Lucy. I mean to have my last glass to the old gentleman's health and better temper.” “He has moments of noble generosity that would win all your love,” said she, enthusiastically.