you are crying, too! Don't, mother, don't!" Celeste, her handkerchief to her eyes, had turned her face aside. "Oh, why do you do this?" Browne asked, impatiently. "Don't you see how emotional the child is? All this can't be good for her. Charles ought to be kicked, the rascal! Why doesn't he keep his remorse to himself? He is like this after every spree, and he will do it all over again." Celeste, as if regretting her show of emotion, wiped her eyes, straightened up, and forced a smile. "You must eat an egg this morning, darling," she said to her daughter. "Don't worry about your uncle. He is not very well, but he will be all right soon." "And he won't go away?" Ruth asked, anxiously. "No, he won't go away, dear," Celeste said. "We'll keep him. You must love him and be kind to him." CHAPTER II With a tray holding the breakfast of the other member of the family, Michael ascended the stairs, the heavy carpet muffling his steps. In a room at the end of the house, on the second floor, he found the younger brother of his master nervously walking to and fro across the room. He was tall, strongly built, and had a well-shaped head. He was clean-shaven, blue-eyed, and had a fine shock of brown hair through which he was constantly pushing his splaying fingers. "Come in, come in! Thank you, Mike!" he said, drawing his long gray robe about him and retying the silken cord at the waist. "I can't eat a bite, but I want the coffee. Wait; I'll clear the table." He made an effort to move some books from the small table, but he fumbled them and they slid from his trembling hands to the floor, where he let them lie in a heap. The servant heard him sigh dejectedly and then he said: "I'm all in, Mike; I'm done for." "Oh no, sir!" Michael said, with emotion, as he put the tray on the table and proceeded to gather up the books. "You feel bad, I know, sir, but it will wear off by to-morrow." A low groan escaped the young man's lips. "No, it is too late now, Mike. Give me a cup of coffee, please--strong and hot. Oh, Mike, you can't imagine how I feel. Mike, I am at the end of my rope. I am the greatest failure in Boston. My old college friends shun me. Ladies I used to know drop their eyes when I pass, as if they are afraid of me. The other day I insulted one by staring in her face, not conscious of what I was doing. Her brother resented it yesterday in a café before several people. He struck me--I struck him. We went to the police court. I was fined, and scolded like a dirty street loafer." "Here is your coffee, sir," Michael said, sympathetically. "Drink it right down, sir. You are nervous again."