r, for he found, on entering the
room, that the visitor was a perfect stranger to him--a slim,
wiry-figured gentleman, with a frock-coat buttoned closely over his
chest, reddish-brown full beard, and glasses, through which a sharp pair
of eyes at once went to Paul. Mr. Weevil was standing beside the visitor
on the hearthrug.

"This is the lad I spoke of, Mr. Hibbert--Paul Percival."

The master briefly introduced them. Paul was at once interested. This
gentleman with the tawny beard, and erect, alert, military bearing, was
Hibbert's father.

"I have only recently returned to England, and have but just heard of
the accident that has befallen my son," said Mr. Hibbert. "You saved his
life. I was anxious not to go before I had thanked you."

He took Paul's hand in his, and pressed it hard. A boy less strong than
Paul would have winced under that grip of steel.

"I'm glad to know Hibbert's father."

"And I'm glad to know Paul Percival. It isn't often one meets with a
brave lad like you."

Again he gripped Paul's hand, and seemed to be regarding him as keenly
as ever through his glasses to see if he stood his grip without
flinching.

"I think you would find many who would do as I did--even here at
Garside. It was my luck to be a good swimmer. And that luck--if I may
call it luck--I owe to my father."

"Your father taught you, you mean."

"No," said Paul, shaking his head sadly; "I wish he had. He died when I
was very young--when I could scarcely more than walk; but he was in the
Navy, and it was by his wish that I was taught swimming. The saddest
part is that he was drowned--drowned in saving another man's life."

"Really? That is sad. I hope that the man whom your father saved from a
watery grave was as grateful to him as I am to you."

Paul was silent. He was thinking that if Mr. Hibbert's gratitude were no
greater than the gratitude of the spy whom his father had saved from
drowning it would not count for much.

"I trust this will not be our last meeting. When my son gets well again,
I hope to see more of you. Perhaps we may see a few of the sights of
London together, if your mother has no objection."

Paul thanked him and went out. He was glad that he had met Hibbert's
father, though he was not a bit like the man he had pictured. He had
somehow pictured him with something of the deformity that marked
Hibbert, with the same sad, pathetic eyes; but they were as unlike as
could be, except the voice. Hibber