“Is that you, Desmond?” said a low voice within.

“Yes, mother,” he replied, commanding his voice, and quietly entering.  “I hoped you were asleep.”

“I could not sleep until you came in, dear.  I heard Dick’s voice.  What is the matter?  Your hand is trembling, Desmond.”

“Nothing, mother, as usual.”

A mother’s ears are quick; and Mrs. Burke detected the quiver that Desmond tried to still.  She tightened her clasp on his hot hand.

“Did he strike you, dear?”

“It was nothing, mother.  I am used to that.”

“My poor boy!  But what angered him?  Why do you offend your brother?”

“Offend him!” exclaimed the boy passionately, but still in a low tone.  “Everything I do offends him.  I went to see General Clive; I wished to; that is enough for Dick.  Mother, I am sick of it all.”

“Never mind, dear.  A little patience.  Dick doesn’t understand you.  You should humor him, Desmond.”

“Haven’t I tried, mother?  Haven’t I?  But what is the use?  He treats me worse than any carter on the farm.  I drudge for him, and he bullies me, miscalls me before the men, thrashes me—­oh, mother!  I can’t endure it any longer.  Let me go away, anywhere; anything would be better than this!”

Desmond was quivering with pain and indignation; only with difficulty did he keep back the tears.

“Hush, Desmond!” said his mother.  “Dick will hear you.  You are tired out, dear boy; go to bed; things will look brighter in the morning.  Only have patience.  Good night, my son.”

Desmond kissed his mother and went to his room.  But it was long before he slept.  His bruised body found no comfort; his head throbbed; his soul was filled with resentment and the passionate longing for release.

His life had not been very happy.  He barely remembered his father—­a big, keen-eyed, loud-voiced old man—­who died when his younger son was four years old.  Richard Burke had run away from his Irish home to sea.  He served on Admiral Rooke’s flagship at the battle of La Hogue, and, rising in the navy to the rank of warrant officer, bought a ship with the savings of twenty years and fitted it out for unauthorized trade with the East Indies.  His daring, skill, and success attracted the attention of the officers of the Company.  He was invited to enter the Company’s service.  As captain of an Indiaman he sailed backwards and forwards for ten years; then at the age of fifty retired with a considerable fortune and married the daughter of a Shropshire farmer.  The death of his wife’s relatives led him to settle on the farm their family had tenanted for generations, and it was at Wilcote Grange that his three children were born.

Fifteen years separated the elder son from the younger; between them came a daughter, who married early and left the neighborhood.  Four years after Desmond’s birth the old man died, leaving the boy to the guardianship of his brother.