TURNED ADRIFT 279

thee,” he replied; “be off to the place whence ye ha’
come.”

Nick’s hand was almost on the latch. He stopped. He
looked up into his father’s face. “Why, father, I’ve come
home!” he gasped.

The gate shook in the tanner’s grip. “Have I na telled
thee twice I do na know thee, boy? No house o’ mine
shall e’er be home for thee. Thou hast no part nor parcel
here. Get thee out 0’ my sight.”

“Oh, father, father, what do ye mean?” cried Nick, his
lips scarcely able to shape the words.

“Do na ye ‘father’ me no more,” said Simon Attwood,
bitterly; “I be na father to stage-playing, vagabond
rogues. And be gone, I say. Dost hear? Must I e’en
thrust thee forth?” He raised his hand as if to strike.

Nick fell away from the latchet-gate, dumb-stricken with
amazement, shame, and grief.

“Oh, Nick,” cried Cicely, “come away—the wicked,
wicked man!”

“Tt is my father, Cicely.”

She stared at him. “And thou dost hate my father so?
Oh, Nick! oh, Nick!”

_ “Will ye be gone?” called Simon Attwood, half-way
opening the gate; “must I set constables on thee?”

Nick did not move. A numbness had crept over him
like palsy. Cicely caught him by the hand. “ Come, let
us go back to my father,” she said. “He will not turn us
out.”

Searcely knowing what he did, he followed her, stum-