"I intended to tell you, Miss Dundas, after I had asked my son's permission. You see, we are all in league with him here. If the police got an inkling of his presence in the house, it would be very awkward." "I don't think Dick would like to see you just now," interjected Netty. "You see, he's ill--he's very ill, and much broken." "Now that you know he is here," interposed the rector, "there can be no objection to your seeing him. I must first inform him of your coming--that he may be prepared. I'm sure he will be glad to see you." The rector escaped to fulfil a difficult and painful mission. He had almost forgotten the existence of his son's sweetheart, and was only conscious that she added to the troubles of an already trying situation. The noble fellow, who was prepared to take the burden of his mother's sin, would certainly find it hard to justify himself in the eyes of the woman he loved. And, if he set himself right in Dora's eyes, that would mean--? He trembled to think what it would mean. Dora and Netty, in the study, maintained an unnatural reserve, in which there was silent antagonism. Dora relieved the situation by a commonplace. "You must be overjoyed, Netty, to have your brother back again." "Overjoyed!" exclaimed Netty, with a shrug. "I'm likely to lose a husband. A disgraced brother is a poor exchange." "You don't mean to say that Harry Bent would be so mean as to withdraw because your brother--" "Oh, yes, say it--because my brother is a criminal. I don't pity him, and you'll find your father less lenient than mine. All thought of an engagement between you and Dick is now, of course, absurd." "That is for Dick to decide," said Dora, quietly. But there was a horrible sinking at her heart, and tears came to her eyes. She walked to the window to hide her emotion from unsympathetic eyes. She almost hated Netty. Everyone seemed to be conspiring to overthrow her idol. They would not give her half a chance of believing him innocent. She positively quaked at the prospect of hearing from Dick's own lips his version of the story. When the clergyman came down, he entered with bowed head and haggard face, like a beaten man. He signed to Netty that he wished to be alone with Dora, and, when the girl was gone, went over to his visitor, and laid a trembling hand upon her shoulder. "My dear Miss Dundas, my son desires to see you, and speak with you alone. He will say--he will tell you things that may make you take a harsh view of--of his parents. I exhort you, in all Christian charity, to suspend your judgment, and be merciful--to us, at least. I am a weak man--weaker than I thought. This is a time of humiliation for us, a time of difficulty, bordering on ruin. Have mercy. That is all I ask." Without waiting for a reply, he led the way upstairs. Dora followed with beating heart, conscious of a sense of mystery. At the door of Dick's room, the rector left her. "Go in," he murmured, hoarsely. "Dora!"