He was a man of rapid conclusions, and he had made up his mind on this point on the evening of the day on which he had heard of Tom’s disgrace--for disgrace he had felt it to be, accepting no consolation from the fact that many young men not thereafter to be despised met with the same fate. He would not allow his son to return home, but had his fate intimated to him at once by the solicitor whom Mr. Chester chose to employ in business of this sort. It was to New Zealand this time that the unfortunate was to be sent. His passage-money and fifty pounds, and a desk in an office when he reached his destination--this was the fate of the unhappy youth, fresh from all indulgences and follies. No hope even was held out to him of ever retrieving his lost position; and Tom knew with what remorseless decision George had already been cut off. Perhaps he had not lamented as he might have done his brother’s punishment, which left such admirable prospects to himself, but it left no doubt on his mind as to his own fate. He had asked, what George had not had the courage to ask, that he might come home and take farewell of his sister, at least. And this had been granted to him. If any forlorn hope was in his mind of being able to touch the heart of his father, it was a very forlorn hope indeed, and one which he scarcely ventured to whisper even to himself. He had arrived at the country station which was nearest Bedloe while his father and sister were talking of him, and had been received by the groom with that somewhat ostentatious sympathy and regard for his comfort with which servants are wont to show a consciousness of the situation. The groom was very anxious that Mr. Tom should be protected from the rain, the soft, continuous drizzle of a spring night. “I’ve brought your waterproof, sir; the roads is heavy, and we’ll be a long time getting home”-- “Never mind the waterproof,” said Tom; “I like the rain.” “It’s cooling, sir; but after a while, when you’re soaked through--if you get a chill, sir?” “It don’t matter much,” said Tom. “How are they all at home?” “Pretty nicely,” said the man, “though Mrs. Pierce do say that she don’t like master’s looks, and Miss Winifred is that pale except when she flushes up”-- “How’s Bayleaf?” This was Tom’s hunter which he never mounted, yet felt a certain property in all the same. “Nothing to brag of, sir. That poor animal, he’s like a Christian. He knows as well when there’s something up”-- “You had better drive on,” said Tom. “How dark it is!” “It’s all the rain, sir, like as if the skies themselves--But we’re glad as the equinoctials is over, and you’ll have a good season for your voyage. Shall you see Mr. George, sir, where you are going?” At this Tom laughed, with a most unmirthful outburst. “No,” he said; “that’s the fun of the thing--he in one country and I in another. It’s all very nicely settled for us.”