A sudden fear that little Dick might hear the rising old voice came over Mostyn, and he restrained the angry retort that throbbed on his lips. Ascending the steps, he went into his room to prepare for his visit. How odd, but the vengeful force of his contemplated retaliation had lessened! As he stood at his bureau taking out some necessary articles from a drawer he felt his old morbidness roll back over him like a wave. Was it Mitchell's petulant complaints of his daughter's conduct, or was it what he had said about his grandchild? It was the latter; Mostyn was sure of it, for all at once he had the overpowering yearning for the boy which had so completely dominated him of late. He dropped the articles back into the drawer and stood listening. Dick must be asleep by this time. But no, that was a voice from the direction of the nursery. It was the low tones of Hilda the nurse. "Now, go to sleep," she was saying. "You must stop rollin' an' tumblin' an' talkin'." "I know it _is_ my Daddy," the childish voice was heard saying. "He is in his room, and I want to sleep in his bed." "You _can't_ sleep in his bed," the nurse scolded. "You must be quiet and go to sleep." Mostyn crept across the room to the door and stood listening, holding his breath and trying to still the audible throbbing of his heart. He heard Dick sobbing. Pushing the door open, Mostyn looked into the room, feeling the gas-heated air beat back into his face as he did so. In the light at a small table the nurse sat sewing, and she glanced up. "What is Dick crying about?" he demanded. "Because he's bad," was the reply. "He's been bad all day. In all my born days I've never seen such a bothersome child. He began cryin' to go to the bank just after you left this mornin'. He made such a fuss that his mother had to whip 'im, but it didn't do 'im a bit o' good. He has been watchin' the gate for you all day, threatenin' to tell you. He doesn't care for nobody in the world but you--not even his grandfather. I reckon you've spoiled 'im, sir, pettin' 'im up so much." Mostyn crossed over to Dick's bed and looked down on the tear-marked face. The child's breast was spasmodically quivering with suppressed sobs. His lips were swollen; there was a red mark on the broad white brow, against which the locks lay like pliant gold. "What caused this?" Mostyn demanded, pointing to the spot. "It is where his mother slapped 'im this mornin'. She had to do it. He was cryin' an' kickin' an' wouldn't pay no 'tention to 'er. He kept up such a'sturbance that she couldn't dress to go out. He said he was goin' to the bank to tell you, an' he got clean down the street 'fore I saw 'im." The child was looking straight into Mostyn's eyes. To him the expression was fathomless. "What is the matter, Dick?" he asked. "I want my Daddy," the boy sobbed. "I don't like Hilda; I don't like mama; I don't like grandpa; I want to sleep in your room."