The passionate entreaty of the young voice touched, to some extent, even the hard heart of Mr. Ellis, but the momentary feeling was instantly swallowed up by the pride and selfishness which were making him the meanest of men.
"I owe it to myself," said he coldly, "not to turn my house into a reformatory, and I cannot, therefore, receive you here. I give you this five-pound note, which you will please to regard as a farewell present, and under no pretext are you to come here again."
"But, father, for pity's sake—"
"Enough, Robert! I will hear no more."
"Then there's nothing for me but to go—to the bad!" cried the young man despairingly.
"Really," replied Mr. Ellis, "things being as they are, that's your affair, not mine."
Then the door opened, and Bob ran downstairs.
"Don't stop me, children! It's all up with me!" he sobbed, as the twins clung to his arm. "I'm a poor outcast, whom no one loves. I'm going to the bad again."
Throwing off the little clinging hands, while great tears ran down his pale cheeks, he opened the hall door and sprang out.
He was already in the dark of the shrubbery path, when he felt a little, soft, warm hand steal into his own, and Dina's voice whispered, "You mustn't think nobody loves you, Brother Bob; I love you ever so much; and I'm going to pray to God for you every day, just as I used for dear mother. Won't you kiss me, please?"