new, too, that
Hetty enjoyed those long evenings as much as I did, which meant more to
me than I would have dared confess to her. I thought of her a good deal,
but it always resulted in the wretched feeling that we were both very
young after all. It is not likely that I would have decided to go home
for a fortnight, but that I thought it would be pleasant to observe
the effect of saying good-by to Hetty. I had no doubt that she would be
quite overcome with grief and loneliness after I had gone, and, reckless
youth that I was, nothing could have made me more happy than to have
known that she really felt grieved on my account. And yet when I called
to bid them all good-by, the evening before I started, she betrayed no
sign of regret. In fact, she seemed so much happier than usual that I
worried about it for weeks, even after I had gone so far away that it
seemed doubtful whether we would ever meet again. It did not occur to
me that I had been less skilful than she in concealing my emotions, and
that she might be merry only because she could perceive that I was sad.
Mrs. Chaffin was the only member of the family who seemed to entertain
feelings as serious as my own. She had dreamed that I would not come
back again, and we all laughed at her then, but when the swift years had
revealed some of their secrets, we thought of this prophetic dream with
a sadness deeper than any that comes to childish hearts. Hester and Phil
walked with me to the gate when I left the house. The radiance of a full
moon fell on our faces through the flying clouds. Phil, stupid fellow!
had so much to say that I did not get a chance to speak to his sister
before she darted back to the house as if pursued. On reaching my
lodgings I was surprised to find a gentleman waiting for me.

"Don't know me, eh?" said he, shaking my hand warmly.

He was a tall, portly man, with a kindly face, clean shaven except for
a pair of close-cropped, iron-gray side whiskers. I was sure I had seen
him before, but couldn't think of his name.

"Earl," said he, handing me a card on which his name and address were
printed as follows:

DAVID GORDON EARL,
Barrister at Law,
Lincoln's Inn, London.

I remembered distinctly having accompanied my father to his office on
one occasion some years before.

"I've come up from London on purpose to see you. Just got here only a
few minutes ago," said he, laying off his overcoat. "But upon my word!"