A Blot on the Scutcheon

. And arriving there to be greeted wit

ffection in life. Ten years had passed since he had come, a raw, uncou

ad been thorn in flesh to Sir Henry. But the years h

e, mould; though, at twenty-four, he was known at Oxford as Hotspur Mike by reason of the devilry of his pra

son of his, finding him true stuff, with Berrington hon

d, and his grey eyes looked straight and f

which grew down into native soil, and the old man

ir Henry

s he sat opposite to the little, black-coated doctor who took his snuff and

, disturbed him far more than the vapourings and hysterical scream

is d

Mr. Michael. It is a case of infl

go to

Michael, Sir Henry has ask

mom

. The valves of

did not want

ying and had asked fo

brought Comrade with droopi

h its huge, four-poster bed and dark h

lared in the silver candlesticks on the table and

red old eyes; but there

n feared only on

it that ghost which

was gently drawing b

Mic

a hundred unuttered welc

ndfa

ess which shook

h and clasp of warm young fingers i

r depths of grey. This is a Berrington who will hold honour high-a

ed God for such an heir. Then, once more, the shadow fell. B

as how ... it began. My boy ... Stephen ... I ... have cursed him ... but his mother ... loved him. If he comes ... bac

swe

ugh a burden had been dropped from weary

failed me.... Would ... God he had ... been my son. Yet Mary ... loved Stephen...

gone to finish his plea for pardo

*

ing on many things, till the candles guttered and went out wi

ugh the sigh which broke from h

s father wer

swe

te reiteratio