Little Georgey Leaves His Old Home

"I am going to take your grandson away with me, Mr. Maldon," Robert said gravely, as Mrs. Plowson retired with her young charge.

The old man's drunken imbecility was slowly clearing away like the heavy mists of a London fog, through which the feeble sunshine struggles dimly to appear. The very uncertain radiance of Lieutenant Maldon's intellect took a considerable time in piercing the hazy vapors of rum-and-water; but the flickering light at last faintly glimmered athwart the clouds, and the old man screwed his poor wits to the sticking-point.

"Yes, yes," he said, feebly; "take the boy away from his poor old grandfather; I always thought so."

"You always thought that I should take him away?" scrutinizing the half-drunken countenance with a searching glance. "Why did you think so, Mr. Maldon?"

The fogs of intoxication got the better of the light of sobriety for a moment, and the lieutenant answered vaguely: "Thought so--'cause I thought so."

Meeting the young barrister's impatient frown, he made another effort, and the light glimmered again.

"Because I thought you or his father would fetch 'm away."

"When I was last in this house, Mr. Maldon, you told me that George Talboys had sailed for Australia."

"Yes, yes--I know, I know," the old man answered, confusedly, shuffling his scanty limp gray hairs with his two wandering hands--"I know; but he might have come back--mightn't he? He was restless, and--and--queer in his mind, perhaps, sometimes. He might have come back."