It was then that I saw in the boy the weakness of which Lattery had spoken. If he had resisted his father, rebelled, dared all, demanded all, we could-all three of us-have leaped to his aid, have beaten, or, at worst, defied the man who had set himself against the divine thing on his hearth, the thing he did not want-in the shop.

But, instead, the lad blenched, cowed by the will that opposed him, the stronger will. He went out without a word, and in his going robbed us of nine-tenths of our strength. But, at his father's first step to follow him, Lattery rallied, making agonised use of the tenth that was left. He sprang to the door and shut it; I had never seen him so much moved. He was fighting, not for a boy's right of way, but for the heritage of the world.

'Do you know what you are doing?' he said. 'Do you know that your son has genius-genius?'

'Has he?' The rat-like eyes fastened furiously on Lattery. 'But he is my son, you will remember, and so it is going to be knocked out of him. Genius! Will genius feed and clothe him, as the shop has done all these years? He will have no need of genius; common sense will do. And it won't take me long to cure him-now I know. Once he is rid of your influence, that has been undermining mine all these years, I shall have no difficulty with him.'

It was true I could see that by the quiver of pain round Lattery's lips. The boy, alongside of the wondrous thing, had a weakness of will, a lack of moral stamina on which his father could work with disastrous effect. If he could not dry up the living stream, he could dam it effectually between the walls of Gay and Son.

'But you can't-' stammered Lattery, almost incoherent before the necessity of speaking a language that this man could understand; 'you surely don't want

'Let me pass,' Gay interrupted, savagely.

Lattery stiffened as he stood, the angry colour flicking his cheeks. I have taught your son for ten years. My opinion is held not valueless. I have a right to be heard by you.'

"You have tricked and deceived me for ten years, and you have no right to anything-unless it is prosecution. Let me pass.'

It was Mrs. Gay whose hand on Lattery's arm induced him, with its poignant appeal, as from one who knew the hopelessness of resistance, to yield. He let her draw him aside, and Gay left the

room.

'Where are you going, William?' At the last moment the cry was wrung from her; the sharp fear in her voice fell like the touch of ice on my heart. What incredible thing did she dread? Yet even that I knew.

He turned in the passage. To Robin-first,' he said. 'Stay where you are-all of you.'

An exclamation of scornful rage fell from Lattery. But Mrs. Gay shut the door swiftly, with a low Hush!'

We stood close together about the door, as though to shut out some spectre of horror that clamoured for entrance. Yet it was already within. Its awful breath was on Mrs. Gay's cheeks as she leaned against the door, her eyes closed, her hands clenched.

'It makes it worse,' she said, in a low, toneless voice, to interfere. You mustn't. I mustn't. Oh, God, I had to find that out years ago. I must-I must pretend not to care. The other way feeds it his cruelty.' A shudder racked her. 'Do you know what he did the first time he caught Robin touching one of the pianos in the warehouse? He was a little, little boy of four, and he whipped him before my eyes for it, whipped him till But what agonising memory caught the breath in her throat we never knew. It was then,' she whispered, that I saw I must always— always pretend not to care.'

Lattery murmured something about the future-plans for Robin's future. But she looked at him uncomprehendingly. It was the present that held her terror.

Silence lay with the heaviness of a pall about us. The minutes fell, like slow drops of blood, into the night. At last there came the sound of returning steps, and we scattered, leaving the doorway free.

Gay was clearly in a different mood. He came in flushed, breathing heavily, smiling a little. There was something indescribably loathsome in that change of mood, that access of sleekness; it suggested the satiety of one returning glutted from unspeakable orgies. 'William!' Mrs. Gay's voice escaped again from her control. 'What have you done-to Robin ? '

He stopped smiling, and faced her. What is one obliged to do,' he asked, briskly, with disobedient children? I have flogged him.'

For a moment I am certain we were all held in the same physical bondage-a sensation of actual suffocation. It was Robin's mother who first fought it successfully.

'William!' she gasped. William! He was seventeen last

week.'

ment will be repeated. no half-measures now.

'What does that matter? When he disobeys me, he will be punished as I think fit. If necessary, as I have told him, the punishAnd, as I have also told him, there will be He leaves school at once, and comes into the shop to-morrow morning. Henceforward I will know how he spends every hour of his day.'

Though there was no light in Mrs. Gay's eyes, they were still capable, I saw of darkening. And the shadow that lay on them now was an agony of terror.

'You told him that? You robbed him of all hope, and then you?'

Certainly I did. The sooner he realises that all this musical nonsense is at an end, the better.'

With a curious, panting sound Mrs. Gay ran to the door. 'Where are you going?' he asked.

6 To him.'

'You can't. I have locked him in.'

Mrs. Gay turned. William,' she said, 'I must go to him.' Her voice was suddenly very quiet and steady, but it was as though in her extremity she had summoned to her aid all the motherhood of the world. And before the wind of those myriad, mighty wings, the man, though uncomprehending, fell back.

'Robin won't thank you,' he grumbled, uneasily. 'He won't want to see anyone yet. I was obliged to punish him very severely, and——'

'Please go first,' she said. 'Quickly.' She turned to Lattery and me. 'Come, too,' she breathed, 'I-I am afraid.'

We followed. The door that Gay unlocked opened on to a large bedroom-evidently his and hers. It was empty. I guessed that the door opposite led to a dressing-room, in which the boy slept. It would be like Gay to deny him even the freedom of the night. This second door was ajar, and from a peg on the near side of it hung a dressing-gown. That was all that for the moment I noticed. Then-simultaneously, I think—we all saw what Mrs. Gay was looking at. The white girdle of the dressing-gown had been withdrawn, looped round the peg, and the two ends of it thrown over the top of the door on to the other side. And they hung, not slackly, but taut and strained beneath a weight. . . .

It was Lattery who sprang to that door and passed to the

other side of it. Gay followed. There was no need for words. We knew. Mrs. Gay, I realised, had known downstairs, when she said, 'I am afraid.' More than that; she had lived for years with the fear that was now irremediable reality.

Another moment, and the cord dropped, with a sickening slackness, on our side of the door. Lattery's face showed.

'The doctor,' he said, but only his lips moved; there was no sound.

Mrs. Gay stopped me with a gesture. 'It is no use,' she said. 'Don't you understand? He did it at once, or he would not have done it at all. So it is too late.'

Gay's face appeared behind Lattery's. It was greenly pallid, and his eyes were glazed with fear. I felt the stirring of compassion. To be a murderer, and yet live-yet be entitled to life!

But Mrs. Gay, looking at him with calm, relentless insight, laid bare his craven soul.

'No, you're in no danger, William,' she said. If we could hang you by telling, we'd all tell. But we couldn't; we could only shame Robin. And so you're quite safe.' Her eyes, dull as ashes, yet seared him like lightning: I saw him wince. You'll even be able, William, to draft the paragraph for the local paper yourself; no one will guess the truth. And you know the sort of thing. Mr. Gay, who on Monday evening had occasion to reprove his son for idleness

The steady voice failed; she gave a gasp. What was that?' she asked, sharply. But there had been no sound. 'I thought --something happened,' she added, and moved in an uncertain way to the door behind which her son lay. Lattery and Gay came into the outer room to let her pass. On the threshold she turned and faced her husband. And something had happened: she was different.

For an instant I could give the difference no name. Then it came, with a sick rush of horror. There was a light in her eyes— the light, not of reason.

And the smile on her lips was triumphant. So you haven't,' she said, got him-after all-for the shop.

V. H. FRIEDLAENDER.

OUR NATIONAL COMPLEXION.

WE still assume that our national complexion is fair. And foreigners cherish the same belief. It is traditional. The anglaise of a French or Italian novel could only be blonde. But at the present time an observant visitor would be led to doubt the rule in very few minutes-as applied to the large towns at any rate. In poor quarters and in streets where people congregate for business, he would pass scores and scores of girls before meeting one with yellow hair undyed. Black as of Italy or Spain is far commoner, even among women unconscious of alien blood. A large proportion of the children also have dark hair, and experience tells that most of the others will be more or less dark at eighteen years old. As for grown men of the flaxen type it might well chance that a visitor walked from Tottenham Court Road to Regent Street when the crowd was thickest and saw not one-for I have had that experience After many computations in the last few years I reckon that one-third of the persons met in the thoroughfare named, excluding those obviously foreign, have black hair or nearly, one-half dark brown, one-sixth light brown. The percentage of flaxen in adults is a negligible quantity. But the reader may compute for himself.

Oxford Street presents the best field for observation because so many classes meet there, workers and idlers, rich and proletariat, city and suburban. Eastward, in the manufacturing quarters, the proportion of fair dwindles; westward, among people who live in air somewhat wholesome, to whom green fields were familiar in childhood, it increases. But nowhere in London probably, at this day, could even a private gathering of thirty or forty adults be found in which the ratio of the fair amounted to one-third; I use the term 'fair' in the sense officially recognised now-yellow or flaxen hair, grey, green, or blue eyes. But a return shows that in Sweden very nearly three-quarters of the whole population, rich and poor, townsfolk, rustics, and foreigners all together, are fair. The proportion here was never so great perhaps; our heavy 'Celtic fringe' pulled it down. But among families of English blood it may