Any master might have been proud of such a servant--any father of such a son.

My poor father--no, he did not once look from John Halifax to me.

He would not have owned for the world that half-smothered sigh, or murmured because Heaven had kept back from him--as, Heaven knows why, it often does from us all!--the one desire of the heart.
"John Halifax, thee hast been of great service to me this night.

What reward shall I give thee ?" And instinctively his hand dived down into his pocket.

John turned away.
"Thank you--I'd rather not.