"Father," he said, with great earnestness. "Father I cannot hold the brush, my hand grows unsteady; please let me go and see Frederick; it seems to me as if some one there wanted me very much!" "If Frederick wanted to see us, he would come here, I should think!" answered the father. "I believe--I almost think that his father is sick," said Joseph. "And how did you know this?" asked Mr. Esmond, rather sharply, for he seemed jealous of his son's interest in the Mayor's family. "I don't know it--but it seemed to me all day yesterday and to-day, that something was the matter." "And if there is, your mother's child--my child should not trouble himself about it!" Joseph looked at his father in astonishment. These sharp words were so unlike his usual kindliness, that the lad was bewildered. "I--I thought you liked Fred so much," he said, at last. "But it is not Fred--it is his father you are thinking of, unnatural child that you are!" "Father--oh, father!" "There--there," said the old man, more gently. "I did not mean it. Go, my son if you wish, I will not stop you, but do not give much love to any one but your father, he has had so little, so very little on earth. Don't let this man get your heart away from me." "Away from you, my own, own father?" said Joseph, grieved, and deeply hurt. "Well--well, all this is foolish talk--but I am getting very childish. It ages one so to live alone, Joseph, you would not believe it, but I am a younger man by five years than the Mayor." "The Mayor has grown very old since I first saw him father, you would be astonished!" "Then you have seen him more than once?" "Yes; he comes to Mrs. Peters, now, almost every day, and sometimes I see him." "In this house--in this house!" exclaimed the artist, "to-morrow we will move--to-night, if another room can be got!" As the old man spoke, a hesitating knock was heard at the door. Joseph and his father looked at each other wistfully; at length the boy stepped forward and turned the latch. Mr. Farnham stood on the threshold. The artist drew his tall form up, and remained immovable, with his dark eyes fixed sternly on the Mayor's. Joseph paused irresolute, with the last dying gold of sunset falling on his head, from a neighboring window. The artist glanced from him to the Mayor, and a look of sudden pain swept across his face. It was a strange, jealous pang to strike a man of his age. "Go," said the Mayor gently to the lad; "go, and leave us alone, I wish to speak with your father." Joseph looked at his father questioningly. "Go!" said the old man, in a voice so husky that he could only force himself to utter that single word. Joseph went out, and those two old men--for the Mayor looked very old that night--sat down in the dim chamber, and talked together for the first time in their lives.