“And may I not hope, my boy, that you will grow up to be like him? You don’t know how dearly he loves you; how proud he is of his son; nor do you realize how much of his joy and gladness in the future is dependent upon your success in life. Oh! Matthew! Matthew! Will you not strive, with all your might, to make your father happy and blessed? You can do it. Let him know that his beloved boy is good and true, and honest, and kind of heart--let him know this, and he will be as happy as a man can be. You will try, won’t you?” The boy kicked at the carpet with his foot; he gazed out at a neighboring window; gazed everywhere save into the watchful eyes of the speaker. At length, when the baronet had finished what he had to say, Master Matthew grunted out a dubious--“Yes--I s’pose so”--and speedily thereafter sought his trap. After this the baronet called his little daughter to his bedside; and when he had kissed her he fancied that he saw a cloud on her open brow and a look of disappointment in her bright eyes. “What is the matter with my darling?” he asked, drawing her head down upon his pillow. And pretty soon it came out. Percy had promised her that he would come up that afternoon and help her in her lessons. Practically he had become her teacher, and she looked forward to his coming with so much of eagerness that failure on his part became to her a bitter disappointment. “Well, well, little pet, do not worry. He may come yet.” “No, no, papa, he cannot come. His papa is sick, and is dying! Oh! think of it! He will never have a papa any more. Dear papa! you won’t die, will you? Oh, tell me that you will not!” A convulsion shook the dying man from head to foot. He had spoken to his child of death, had sought to accustom her to the thought; but not yet had he told her that he was surely leaving her. He could not do it now--could not tell her that he was dying; but he told her she must be brave and strong; and she must remember that, even though he should be taken from her, she would have her dear grandpa left, who would love her always. With regard to Percy, of whom his daughter had spoken, the baronet had no fixed thoughts of any kind. He knew the boy--knew him to be the son of a man who was said to be a noted smuggler; but, somehow, the idea of smuggling, as an offence, did not strike him with anything akin to horror. On the contrary, he thought of it without pain and even without bitterness. Though he would not have willingly admitted a smuggler to his friendship, he would not make war against him. And, further, he would not visit the sins of the father upon the head of the child. He had met Percy Maitland, and had spoken with him, and had been most agreeably surprised by the beauty of person, and his evident beauty and purity of mind. He had seen enough of the boy to feel assured that the errors of the sire had not in the least given taint to the son.