recollecting."

It was evident that the stranger did not belong to the rank of life his
appearance had at first betokened. James, who had been at a distance,
now arriving, came to the door, and invited him in to supper. The
stranger followed him, and with a bow to the ladies, which was certainly
not like that of a mere countryman, was about to take a seat at table,
when Arthur entered. The stranger's colour mounted to his cheeks as he
said--

"I am indebted to you, sir, for my life, and I am most thankful, as it
enables me to enjoy the present society, though I fear my life is not
worth the risk you ran to save it."

Arthur had been earnestly examining the countenance of the stranger
while he was speaking. "I thought so," he exclaimed, coming round to
him and taking his hand; "Mark Withers, of Wallington?"

"The same, though somewhat wiser; rather further down the hill than when
we parted," returned the stranger. "But I'll own it does my heart good
to meet so many old friends together."

Kind and warm greetings saluted the wanderer; his heart softened, and
for a time he laid aside his cynical, discontented manner. The
well-furnished rooms, the handsome arrangements of the supper-table, and
the servants in attendance, all spoke of ample means. A feeling of
jealousy might possibly have passed through his heart as he made these
observations. He remarked, however, when left alone with the brothers,
"Well, you fellows seem to have fallen on your feet; and I'm heartily
glad of it, indeed I am."

"We have been working pretty hard, though," said James; and, after
giving a brief sketch of their career in the colony, he asked, "And you,
Withers, I hope that you have got a comfortable home in Australia
somewhere."

"Home!" exclaimed Withers; "I haven't a wigwam I can call my own, and my
whole property consists in the damp duds I had on my back when I pulled
them off in Willie's room."

"Where have you been, then, Mark, all this time?" asked Arthur.

"Been! why, my dear fellow, all round the world, exemplifying the truth
of the saying, that `a rolling stone gathers no moss.' My father did
not much fancy my giving up his business; and indeed I had to take
French leave at last, and then write and ask his forgiveness. He told
me, in reply, that I was a graceless vagabond; but that I might follow
my own devices, if I was so minded, without opposition, though without
help from him. I fancied that my own devices we