“What brings you here?” she demanded, coolly, of Carl.

“I came here because this is my father’s house, madam.”

“You have behaved badly to me,” said Mrs. Crawford. “You have defied my authority, and brought sorrow and distress¹ to your good father. I thought you would have the good sense to stay away.”

“Do you indorse this, father?” asked Carl, turning to Dr. Crawford.

“No!” answered his father, with unwonted energy. “My house will always be your home.”

“You seem to have changed your mind, Dr. Crawford,” sneered² his wife.

“Where did you pick up the report of Carl’s being killed on the railroad?” asked the doctor, sternly.

“Peter heard it in the village,” said Mrs. Crawford, carelessly.

“Did it occur to you that the sudden news might injure your husband?” asked Ashcroft.

“I spoke³ too impulsively⁴. I realize too late my imprudence,” said Mrs. Crawford, coolly. “Have you lost your place?” she asked, addressing Carl.

“No. I have just returned from Chicago.”

His stepmother looked surprised.

“We have had a quiet time since you left us,” she said. “If you value your father’s health and peace of mind, you will not remain here.”

“Is my presence also unwelcome?” asked Ashcroft.

“You have not treated me with respect,” replied Mrs. Crawford. “If you are a gentleman, you will understand that under the circumstances it will be wise for you to take your departure.”

“Leaving my old friend to your care?”

“Yes, that will be best.”

“Mr. Ashcroft, can I have a few minutes’ conversation with you?” asked Carl.

“Certainly.”

They left the room together, followed by an uneasy and suspicious glance from Mrs. Crawford.

Carl hurriedly communicated to his father’s friend what he had learned about his stepmother.

“Mr. Cook, Peter’s father, is just outside,” he said. “Shall I call him in?”

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