“Changed for the worse, I make no doubt,” returned the angry merchant.  “Let him not darken my door.  If it weren’t Sunday, I should send for a constable this moment.”

“What is it?” cried Mrs. Faringfield.  “Sure it can’t be—­that boy again!”

“Mr. Edward, madam,” said the tutor.

“Dear, dear, what a day!  What a terrible day!  And Sunday, too!” moaned the lady, lying back in her chair, completely crushed, as if the last blow of fate had fallen.

“He arrived in the Sarah brig, which anchored yesterday evening,” explained Mr. Cornelius, “but he didn’t come ashore till this morning.”

“He thought Sunday safer,” said Mr. Faringfield, with scornful derision.

“I was returning from my service, when I met him,” continued the tutor.  “He was at the Faringfield wharf, inquiring after the health of the family, of Meadows the watchman.  I—­er—­persuaded him to come home with me.”

“You mean, sir, he persuaded you to come and intercede for him,” said Mr. Faringfield.

“He is now waiting in the garden.  I have been telling Mr. Faringfield, ma’am, that the young man is greatly altered.  Upon my word, he shows the truest signs of penitence.  I believe he is entirely reformed; he says so.”

“You’d best let him come in, William,” counselled Mrs. Faringfield.  “If you don’t, goodness knows what he may do.”

“Madam, I resolved long ago to let the law do its utmost upon him, if he should ever return.”

“Oh, but think what scandal!  What will all my relations say?  Besides, if he is reformed—­”

“If he is reformed, let him show it by his conduct on my refusing to take him back; and by suffering the penalty of his crime.”

“Oh!—­penalty!  Don’t speak such words!  A jailbird in the family!  I never could endure it!  I shouldn’t dare go to church, or be seen anywhere in public!”

“The same old discussion!” said Mr. Faringfield, with a wearied frown.

“Papa, you won’t send him to jail, will you?” ventured Fanny, with eyes rapidly moistening, and lips turning to a pout in spite of herself.

“Really, sir,” put in Cornelius, trembling at his own temerity, “if you could but see him—­take my word, sir, if ever there was a case where forgiveness—­”

After much more of this sort of talk, and being shaken in will by the day’s previous excitements, Mr. Faringfield at length gave in so far as to consent to an interview with the penitent, to whom thereupon Cornelius hastened with the news.

It was indeed a changed and chastened Ned, to all outward appearance, that entered meekly with the pedagogue a few minutes later.  His tread was so soft, his demeanour so tame, that one would scarce have known him but for a second look at his shapely face and burly figure.  The face was now somewhat hollowed out, darkened, lined, and blotched; and elongated with meek resignation.  His clothes—­claret-coloured cloth coat and breeches, flowered waistcoat, silk stockings, lace ruffles, and all—­were shabby and stained.  He bowed to the company, and then stood, furtively watching for some manifestation from the rest before he dared proceed to warmer greetings.