The Vast Abyss. Fenn George Manville

that part of the housework, and she rose from her knees to wish him so hearty a good-morning, that a lump rose in Tom’s throat, there was a dimness in his eyes, and his hand went out involuntarily for a silent good-bye.

      To his surprise a pair of plump arms were flung round him, and he received two hearty kisses, and then there was a warm whisper in his ear —

      “Don’t you mind a bit, my dear. You didn’t deserve it; and as for Mr Sam, he’s a beast.”

      “Thank you, cook,” said Tom huskily, “thank you. Good-bye.”

      “What! Oh no, it ain’t good-bye neither, my dear. They’d like me to go, and so I won’t. I’ll stop just to spite them, so there!”

      Cook went off to seize a door-mat, carry it out on the front steps, and then and there she banged it down, and began to thump it with the head of the long broom, as if in imagination she had Sam beneath her feet.

      “She didn’t understand me,” said Tom to himself, as he hurried into the breakfast-room, feeling that after all it would be very painful to go, but not shaken in his determination.

      “Morning, Mr Tom,” said Mary, who looked bright and cheerful in her clean print dress, as she made pleasant morning music by rattling the silver spoons into the china saucers. “Ain’t it a nice morning? The sun’s quite hot.”

      “Yes, a beautiful morning,” said Tom sadly, as he gave the girl a wistful look, before going into a corner, sitting down and opening Tidd’s Practice for what his cousin called a grind.

      Then with a sigh he went on reading, giving quite a start when Mary had finished her preparations for breakfast, and came to whisper —

      “Cook ain’t going, sir; she says she wouldn’t go and leave you here alone for nothing, and I won’t neither.”

      Tom felt as if he could not speak, and he had no need to, for the maid slipped out of the room, and the next minute Uncle Richard entered to nod to him gravely.

      “Morning, my lad,” he said rather sternly. “That’s right – never waste time.”

      How cold and repellent he seemed: so different to his manner upon the previous night, when the boy had felt drawn towards him. The effect was to make Tom feel more disposed than ever to carry out his plan, and he was longing for the breakfast to be over, so that he could make his start for the office.

      But it wanted half-an-hour yet, and the boy had just plunged more deeply into his book, when Uncle Richard said —

      “And so you don’t like the law, Tom?”

      The boy started, for there was a different ring in the voice now. It sounded as if it were inviting his confidence, and he was about to speak, when his elder went on —

      “To be sure, yes; you told me so last time I saw you.”

      “I have tried, sir, very hard,” said Tom apologetically; “but it seems as if my brains are not of the right shape to understand it.”

      “Humph, perhaps not,” said his uncle, gazing at him searchingly; and Tom coloured visibly, for it seemed to him that those penetrating eyes must be reading the secret he was keeping. “And you don’t like your cousin Sam either?”

      Tom was silent for a few moments.

      “Why don’t you answer my question, sir?”

      “I was thinking, uncle, that it is Cousin Sam who does not like me.”

      “How can he when you knock him down, and then dash china vases at him, sir?”

      “I suppose I did knock him down, uncle, but not until he had kicked and struck me. Throw vases at him!” cried the boy indignantly; “I wouldn’t be such a coward.”

      “Humph!” grunted his uncle, taking up the morning paper that Mary had just brought in; and without another word he sat back in his chair and began to read, while Tom, with his face still burning, turned once more to his book, with a strange elation beginning to take the place of the indignation he felt against his uncle, for it had suddenly occurred to him that this was the last time he would have to make his head ache over the hard, brain-wearying work. Then the elation died out again, for what was to be his future fate?

      He was musing over this, and wondering whether after all he dare trust Pringle, when the door suddenly opened, Uncle Richard rustled and lowered the paper, and Mrs Brandon entered the room, looking wonderfully bright and cheerful.

      “Good-morning, Richard,” she cried; “I am so sorry I am late. James will be down directly. Good-morning, Tom.”

      Tom jumped in his chair at this pleasantly cordial greeting, and stared dumbfounded at his aunt.

      “Not a bit late,” said Uncle Richard, after a glance at his watch. “You are very punctual. Hah, here is James.”

      For at that moment Mr Brandon, looking clean-shaven and pleasant, entered the room.

      “Morning, Dick,” he cried; “what a lovely air. Ah, Tom, my boy, got over the skirmish?”

      Tom babbled out something, and felt giddy. What did it mean? Could they have divined that he was about to run away, and were going to alter their treatment; or had Uncle Richard, who seemed again so grave and cold, been taking his part after he had gone to bed?

      But he had very little time for dwelling upon that; the question which troubled him was, How could he go away now?

      The thoughts sent him into a cold perspiration, and he glanced anxiously at the clock, to see that it was a quarter past eight, and that in fifteen minutes, according to custom, he must start for the office – for the office, and then – where?

      Just then Mary entered with the breakfast-tray, and, chatting pleasantly, all took their seats. Mary whisked off two covers, to display fried ham and eggs on one, hot grilled kidneys on the other.

      Tom grew hotter and colder, and asked himself whether he was going out of his mind, for there was no thin tea and bread-and-butter that morning.

      “Tea or coffee, Tom?” said his aunt; and Tom’s voice sounded hoarse as he chose the latter.

      He was just recovering from this shock when his uncle said —

      “Ham and eggs or kidneys, Tom? There, try both – they go well together.”

      “Thank you, uncle,” faltered the boy; and he involuntarily looked up at Uncle Richard, who sat opposite to him, and saw that, though his face was perfectly stern and calm, his eyes were fixed upon him with a peculiar twinkling glitter.

      “Bread, my boy?” he said quietly, and he took up a knife and the loaf.

      “Try a French roll, Tom,” said his aunt, handing the dish.

      “How can I run away?” thought Tom, as he bent over his breakfast to try and hide his agitation, for his breast was torn by conflicting emotions, and it was all he could do to continue his meal. “It’s of no use,” he said to himself, as the conversation went on at the table; and though he heard but little, he knew that it was about the guest departing that morning for his home in Surrey.

      “Yes,” said Uncle Richard, “I must get back, for I’m very busy.”

      “And not stay another night?” said Aunt Fanny sweetly.

      “No, not this visit, thanks. I’ll get back in good time, and astonish Mrs Fidler. Hallo, squire, you’re late; Tom has half finished the kidneys.”

      “Morning, uncle,” said Sam sourly; “I didn’t know it was so late. I’ve got a bad headache this morning, ma.”

      “Have you, dear? – I am so sorry. But never mind, I’ve a nice strong cup of tea here, and I’ll ring for some dry toast.”

      “No, don’t, ma,” said Sam, scowling at Tom, and looking wonderingly at his cousin’s plate. “I’ll have coffee and a hot roll.”

      “But they will be bad for your head, love.”

      Sam made no reply, but felt his plate, which was