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56 His mother smiled bitterly. "Yes, you're to be a pensioner, on your good behaviour, and perhaps allowed to see your mother once a year, or something like that. I know he hates me, and I hate him. Ah, how I hate him and his cold English ways!"

"I'll try anyway, later on," replied her son. "He's not so bad, mother, you know. It's only his way."

"His way!" she was interrupted by the entrance of the elder son at that moment.

"I'm afraid it's all over with the poor old guv'nor," he said in a shaky voice. "Both Shaw-Lathome and the London man say there's no hope." His face was white, and his lips trembled—he was very fond of his father. "Where am I to sleep to-night?" he continued, looking at his step-mother.

"In the tower-room, Francis, if that will suit you," she answered. "It's nice and quiet, and has its own staircase—so you will not be interrupted."

"Thanks, that will do for me very nicely. I shall go there early, as I may be called up during the night," the young officer replied. "Who knows?"

"You'll have something to eat, Francis?"

"Thank you, I suppose one must eat