"Do you know, Mr. Cleverdon," pursued Julian, "why it was that poor Tony caught me by the neck and kissed me? It was because he was so utterly forlorn and disconsolate; he had lost all his friends, his heart was void through bereavement from his father; he was estranged from that Jacob, that supplanter, Fox; he saw his own sister turning against him, and--I doubt not he has not found that solace and sufficiency in his own home that would make up for these mighty losses. He held me, because he had none other. I do not want him, I have no right to him--let me cast him off--but only on to his father's bosom, into his father's arms." The old man went to the window and looked forth. His face was agitated. He must have time to consider. Anthony, moreover, remained mute, and his face was troubled. A terrible temptation was presented to him. He believed that now, were he to throw himself at his father's feet, take his hand, and ask his forgiveness, the old man would receive him back at once into favour on the terms proposed by Julian. That he would forgive him on any other, he might not expect. That he knew full well. And the old man saw that an opportunity was offered to deal the most insulting and cruel stroke to the daughter of the man who had incurred his undying hatred. He could by a word rob her of her husband, of the prize she had laboured to win, but which he could prevent her from retaining. To Julian was offered the most complete and open triumph over her enemy. A triumph more complete than she could have hoped to gain. Anthony could be nothing to her, he would remain as a friend, that was all; but she would see, and show to Urith, her threat made good to wrench Anthony away from her. Anthony stood with downcast eyes. The temptation was a strong one--strong, to a young man who had been humoured and allowed to have his own way uncontrolled, allowed to follow his pleasure or whim without hindrance. He could not return home without having to face his wife, angered and resentful, without having to acknowledge himself to have been in the wrong. Anthony Crymes was playing him a treacherous and cruel trick, and here was a chance offered him of at once recovering his old position, wiping out his past mistake, and discomfiting Fox when on the eve of success. Was he sure that he could ever be on the same terms as before with Urith? Had she not been gradually estranged from him, till she had declared to him that she hated him, that she wished she had never seen him? Would it not be a relief to be rid of him, to be spared any more domestic broils?