"His father must hear that! Hang it; his father must hear that! And
Grace too!"
"Grace!" said Claude: "and is she with you?"
"With the old man, the angel! tending him night and day."
"And as beautiful as ever?"
"Sir!" said Mark solemnly, "when any one's soul is as beautiful as
hers is, one never thinks about her face."
"Who is Grace?" asked Stangrave.
"A saint and a heroine!" said Claude. "You shall know all; for you
ought to know. But you have no news of Tom; and I have none either. I
am losing all hope now."
"I'm not, sir!" said Mark fiercely. "Sir, that boy's not dead; he
can't be. He has more lives than a cat, and if you know anything of
him, you ought to know that."
"I have good reason to know it, none more: but--"
"But, sir! But what? Harm come to him, sir? The Lord wouldn't harm him
for his father's sake; and as for the devil!--I tell you, sir, if he
tried to fly away with him, he'd have to drop him before he'd gone a
mile!" And Mark began blowing his nose violently, and getting so red
that he seemed on the point of going into a fit.
"Tell you what it is, gentlemen," said he at last, "you come and stay
with me, and see his father. It will comfort the old man--and--and
comfort me too; for I get down-hearted about him at times."
"Strange attraction there was about that man," says Stangrave, _sotto
voce_ to Claude.
"He was like a son to him--"
"Now, gentlemen. Mr.
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