“Dear heart, Mr Tulliver, what can you be thinking of?” said his wife, looking up in alarm; “it’s very wasteful, breaking the coal, and we’ve got hardly any large coal left, and I don’t know where the rest is to come from.” “I don’t think you’re quite so well to-night, are you, father?” said Maggie; “you seem uneasy.” “Why, how is it Tom doesn’t come?” said Mr Tulliver, impatiently. “Dear heart! is it time? I must go and get his supper,” said Mrs Tulliver, laying down her knitting, and leaving the room. “It’s nigh upon half-past eight,” said Mr Tulliver. “He’ll be here soon. Go, go and get the big Bible, and open it at the beginning, where everything’s set down. And get the pen and ink.” Maggie obeyed, wondering; but her father gave no further orders, and only sat listening for Tom’s footfall on the gravel, apparently irritated by the wind, which had risen, and was roaring so as to drown all other sounds. There was a strange light in his eyes that rather frightened Maggie; _she_ began to wish that Tom would come, too. “There he is, then,” said Mr Tulliver, in an excited way, when the knock came at last. Maggie went to open the door, but her mother came out of the kitchen hurriedly, saying, “Stop a bit, Maggie; I’ll open it.” Mrs Tulliver had begun to be a little frightened at her boy, but she was jealous of every office others did for him. “Your supper’s ready by the kitchen-fire, my boy,” she said, as he took off his hat and coat. “You shall have it by yourself, just as you like, and I won’t speak to you.” “I think my father wants Tom, mother,” said Maggie; “he must come into the parlour first.” Tom entered with his usual saddened evening face, but his eyes fell immediately on the open Bible and the inkstand, and he glanced with a look of anxious surprise at his father, who was saying,— “Come, come, you’re late; I want you.” “Is there anything the matter, father?” said Tom. “You sit down, all of you,” said Mr Tulliver, peremptorily. “And, Tom, sit down here; I’ve got something for you to write i’ the Bible.” They all three sat down, looking at him. He began to speak slowly, looking first at his wife. “I’ve made up my mind, Bessy, and I’ll be as good as my word to you. There’ll be the same grave made for us to lie down in, and we mustn’t be bearing one another ill-will. I’ll stop in the old place, and I’ll serve under Wakem, and I’ll serve him like an honest man; there’s no Tulliver but what’s honest, mind that, Tom,”—here his voice rose,—“they’ll have it to throw up against me as I paid a dividend, but it wasn’t my fault; it was because there’s raskills in the world. They’ve been too many for me, and I must give in. I’ll put my neck in harness,—for you’ve a right to say as I’ve brought you into trouble, Bessy,—and I’ll serve him as honest as if he was no raskill; I’m an honest man, though I shall never hold my head up no more. I’m a tree as is broke—a tree as is broke.”