"only handsomer if possible. Hark at that duck of a canary-bird-how he always chimes in when we begin to talk. Sweet! sweet! sweet! Yes; my own

darling dickie duckie canary cherub!" And the young lady rattled off into a long oration greatly affectionate, and purely nonsensical, addressed to her bird. Suddenly she starts up.

"Here comes my darling papa!" "How are you, Vi?"-[kiss, kiss]. "How are you, Baby Madge?-[Kiss, kiss, kiss, and many more too numerous to set out. It seemed as though she would never let him go]. "How cold, isn't it? Mind and keep up good fires. Madge, darling, run and fetch a handkerchief from my room.

Madge darted off on the errand. Then Mr. Fuller's manner changed; he turned to Vi, and said in a solemn voice:

"It's all over. The poor old man

at nine o'clock

died quite painlessly at

this morning."

104

CHAPTER V.

THE PASSING BELL.

"AND his son? Mr. Wilford arrived in time? All was made up between them?" Violet asked, with anxiety.

The doctor shook his head mournfully. "Poor Mr. Wilford!" she went on. "How sad this will make him! Surely he deserved to be forgiven. Surely his long absence from home was sufficient atonement for all his early faults and misdeeds. But perhaps he did not arrive in time?"

"They met," said Mr. Fuller; "it may be that it would have been better if

they had not. I never thought the old man would have been so hard with him. I really believed, in spite of all he said beforehand, that he would relent when he saw his son. I am sure the

sight of him was enough to soften any one. Poor Wilford !"

"Has he changed much since he went away? Is he ill?”

"I never saw any man so altered. You recollect how gay, and handsome, and frank he was seven years ago? You were quite a child, Vi, then, but still I think you must remember him. I know he was very good and kind to you children-very fond of you-always ready to romp with you; why, he gave Madge almost her first doll, you remember. Poor fellow! what trouble he took

about it, sending up to London expressly for it! Now he looks years and years

gaunt, all his old

older, so thin and

bright manner gone.

Such a worn, white

face, such wild-looking eyes, such long, tangled hair and beard! Poor Wilford! I never saw any one so wrecked, and broken, and wretched."

"He was always a favourite of yours, father."

"He is so still, Vi. I can't help it. I did all I could for him in that dreadful business years ago. I never understood it clearly, but I take for granted that the current story about his quarrel with his father was the true one. The old man was furious then, and he remained unforgiving to the last. Yet I am certain the poor boy must have had deep and cruel provocation. He was always violent and headstrong, and very pas