solicitations for aid, was something so improbable
that she could not realise it. " How can you,
Sir, a stranger to us, volunteer so large a sum,
which we may never be in a position to
repay?"

The stranger assured her that the sum was
by no means large. That to him it was of
little consequence, and that such was the scope
for industry and agricultural skill in America,
that in a few years they could readily refund
the money, Here, from what the old gentleman
had told him of the new augmented rate
of rental, there was no chance of recovering a
condition of ease and comfort.

Mrs. Warilow seemed to think deeply on
the new idea presented to her, and then said,
"Surely God had sent Mr. Vandeleur (so the
stranger had given his name), for their
deliverance. Oh, Sir!" added she, "what shall
we not owe you if by your means we can ever
arrive at freedom from the wretched trouble
that now weighs us down. And oh! if my
poor father should ever, in that country, meet
again his lost son!"

"He has lost a son?" said the stranger,
in a tone of deep feeling.

"Ah, it is a sad thing, Sir," continued Mrs.
Warilow, "but it is that which preys on
father's mind. He thinks he did wrong in it,
and he believes that the blessing of Heaven
has deserted him ever since. Sure enough,
nothing has prospered with him, and yet he
feels that if the young man lives he has not
been blameless. He had not felt and forgiven
as a son should. But he cannot be living—no,
he cannot for all these years have born resentment,
and sent no part of his love or his
fortune to his family. It is not in the heart
of a child to do that, except in a very evil
nature, and such was not that of this son."

"Pray go on," said the stranger, "you
interest me deeply."

"This thing occurred twenty years ago.
Mr. Warilow had two sons. The eldest, Samuel,
was a fine active youth, but always with
a turn for travel and adventure, which
was very trying to his father's mind, who
would have his sons settle down in this their
native neighbourhood, and pursue farming as
their ancestors had always done. But his
eldest son wished to go to sea, or to America.
He read a vast deal about that country of
winter nights, and was always talking of the
fine life that might be led there. This was
very annoying to his father, and made him
very angry, the more so that Joseph, the
younger son, was a weakly lad, and had
something left upon him by a severe fever, as
a boy, that seemed to weaken his limbs and
his mind. People thought he would be
an idiot, and his father thought that his eldest
brother should stay and take care of him, for
it was believed that he would never be able
to take care of himself. But this did not seem
to weigh with Samuel. Youths full of life and
spirit don't sufficiently consider such things.
And then it was thought that Samuel imagined
that his father cared nothing for him, and
cared only for the poor weakly son. He
might be a little jealous of this, and that
feeling once getting into people, makes them
see things different to what they otherwise
would, and do things that else they would
not.

"True enough, the father was always
particularly wrapped up in Joseph. He seemed
to feel that he needed especial care, and he
appeared to watch over him and never have
him out of his mind, and he does so to this
day. You have no doubt remarked, Sir, that
my husband is peculiar. He never got over
that attack in his boyhood, and he afterwards
grew very rapidly, and it was thought he
would have gone off in a consumption. It is
generally believed that he is not quite sharp
in all things. I speak freely to you, Sir, and
as long habit, and knowing before I married
Joseph what was thought of him, only could
enable me to speak to one who feels so kindly
towards us. But it is not so—Joseph is more
simple in appearance than in reality. No,
Sir, he has a deal of sense, and he has a very
good heart; and it was because I perceived
this that I was willing to marry him, and to
be a true help to him, and, Sir, though we
have been very unfortunate, I have never
repented it, and I never shall."

The stranger took Mrs. Warilow's hand,
pressed it fervently, and said, "I honour you,
Madam—deeply, truly—pray go on. The
eldest son left, you say."

"Oh yes, Sir! Their mother died when the
boys were about fifteen and seventeen. Samuel
had always been strongly attached to his
mother, and that, no doubt, kept him at home;
but after that he was more restless than ever,
and begged the father to give him money to
carry himself to America. The father refused.
They grew mutually angry; and one day,
when they had had high words, the father
thought Samuel was disrespectful, and struck
him. The young man had a proud spirit.
That was more than he could bear. He did
not utter a word in reply, but turning, walked
out of the house, and from that hour has
never once been heard of.

"His father was very angry with him, and
for many years never spoke of him but with
great bitterness and resentment, calling him
an unnatural and ungrateful son. But of
late years he has softened very much, and I
can see that it preys on his mind, and as
things have gone against him, he has come to
think that it is a judgment on him for his
hardness and unreasonableness in not letting
the poor boy try his fortune as he so yearned
to do.

"Since I have been in the family, I have
led him by degrees to talk on this subject,
and have endeavoured to comfort him, telling
him he had meant well, and since, he had seen
the thing in a different light. Ah, Sir! how
differently we see things when our heat of
mind is gone over, and the old home heart