A little while before, he had spoken bravely against the father of Edward; now, he could not stand up in his presence.
I looked at Edward. He did not move from where he was sitting, and yet I saw that to resist his father cost him no light struggle.
"Edward." There was nothing imperative—nothing stern—nothing commanding in the father's voice; but its great, its almost irresistible power, lay in its expression of the father's belief that his son would instantly leave the place. And it was this power that prevailed. Edward arose, and, with eyes cast upon the floor, was moving away from his companions, when Frank Slade exclaimed:
"Poor, weak fool!"
It was a lightning flash of indignation, rather than a mere glance from the human eye, that Mr. Hargrove threw instantly upon Frank; while his fine form sprung up erect. He did not speak, but merely transfixed him with a look. Frank curled his lip impotently,
