r countries where he should be his own master and win his
own freedom. And now that he was back again, now that he had seen what
that freedom meant, now that he had tasted that same will-o'-the-wisp
liberty, how thankful he was to rest here quietly, peacefully, for the
remainder of his days; at last he knew what were the things that were
alone, in this world, worth striving for--not money, ambition, success,
but love for one's own little bit of country that one called home, the
patient resting in the heritage of all those accumulating traditions
that ancestors had been making, slowly, gradually, for centuries of
years.

He had hoped that he would have the same old rooms at the top of the
West Towers that he had had when a boy; he remembered the view of the
sea from their windows--the great sweep of the Cornish coast far out to
Land's End itself, and the gulls whirring with hoarse cries over his
head as he leant out to view the little cove nestling at the foot of
the Hall. That view, then, had meant to him distant wonderful lands in
which he was to make his name and his fortune: now it spoke of home and
peace, and, beyond all, of Cornwall.

They had put him in one of the big spare rooms that faced inland. As
he entered the sense of its luxury filled him with a delicious feeling
of comfort: the log-fire burning in the open brown-tiled fireplace, the
softness of the carpets, the electric light, shaded to a soft glow--ah!
these were the things for which he had waited, and they had, indeed,
been worth waiting for.

His man was laying his dress-clothes on his bed.

"What is your name?" he said, feeling almost a little shy; it was so
long since he had had things done for him.

"James Treduggan, sir," the man answered, smiling. "You won't remember
me, sir, I expect. I was quite a youngster when you went away. But
I've been in service here ever since I was ten."

When Harry was left alone, he stood by the fire, thinking. He had been
preparing for this moment for so long that now that it was actually
here he was frightened, nervous. He had so often imagined that first
arrival in England, the first glimpse of London; then the first meeting
and the first evening at home. Of course, all his thoughts had centred
on Robin--everything else had been secondary, but he had, in some
unaccountable way, never been able to realise exactly what Robin would
be. He had had photographs, but they had been unsatisfactory and had
to