Claire rose at the same moment, starting from a silent musing fit, while Morton threw down the book he had been reading in a very ill-used way. "Good-night, my son," said Denville, holding out his hand, and grasping the lad's with unusual fervour. "Good-night, father." "And you'll mind and be particular now, my boy. I am sure that at last I can advance your prospects." "Oh, yes, father, I'll be particular." "Don't let people see you fishing there again." "No, father, I'll take care. Good-night. Coming Claire?" Claire had put away her needlework, and was standing cold and silent by the table. "Good-night, Claire, my child," said Denville, with a piteous look and appeal in his tone. "Good-night, father." She did not move as the old man took a couple of steps forward and kissed her brow, laying his hands afterwards upon her head and muttering a blessing. Then, in spite of her efforts, a chill seemed to run through her, and she trembled, while he, noting it, turned away with a look of agony in his countenance that he sought to conceal, and sank down in the nearest chair. He seemed to be a totally different man, and those who had seen him upon the cliff and pier would not have recognised in him the fashionable fribble, whose task it was to direct the flight of the butterflies of the Assembly Room, and preside at every public dance. "Aren't you going to bed, father?" said Morton, trying to speak carelessly. "Yes, yes, my son, yes. I only wish to think out my plans a little-- your commission, and other matters." "I hope he won't be long," muttered Morton as he left the room. "Why, Claire, how white and cold you are! There, hang me if it isn't enough to make a fellow sell himself to that old Lady Drelincourt for the sake of getting money to take care of you. If I'd got plenty, you should go abroad for a change." Claire kissed him affectionately. "Hang me if I don't begin to hate May. She doesn't seem like a sister to us. Been here to-day, hasn't she? I heard they'd come back." "Yes," said Claire with a sigh. "It was cowardly of them to go off like that, when you were in such trouble. You did not have a single woman come and say a kind word when--_that_ was in the house." "Don't speak of it, dear," said Claire. "Mrs Barclay came, though." "Rum old girl! I always feel ready to laugh at her." "She has a heart of gold." "Old Barclay has a box of gold, and nice and tightly he keeps it locked up. I say, he'll sell us up some day." "Morton dear, I can't bear to talk to you to-night; and don't speak like that of May. She has her husband to obey." "Bless him!" cried Morton musingly. "Good-night, Sis."