ly without the power of speech; but I must have carried
my story in my looks, for they rose out of their places and stared on me
like changelings.

"He has come," I panted out at last.

"He?" said Mr. Henry.

"Himself," said I.

"My son?" cried my lord. "Imprudent, imprudent boy! O, could he not stay
where he was safe!"

Never a word says Mrs. Henry; nor did I look at her, I scarce knew why.

"Well," said Mr. Henry, with a very deep breath, "and where is he?"

"I left him in the long shrubbery," said I.

"Take me to him," said he.

So we went out together, he and I, without another word from any one;
and in the midst of the gravelled plot encountered the Master strolling
up, whistling as he came, and beating the air with his cane. There was
still light enough overhead to recognise, though not to read, a
countenance.

"Ah! Jacob," says the Master. "So here is Esau back."

"James," says Mr. Henry, "for God's sake, call me by my name. I will not
pretend that I am glad to see you; but I would fain make you as welcome
as I can in the house of our fathers."

"Or in _my_ house? or _yours?_" says the Master. "Which were you about
to say? But this is an old sore, and we need not rub it. If you would
not share with me in Paris, I hope you will yet scarce deny your elder
brother a corner of the fire at Durrisdeer?"

"That is very idle speech," replied Mr. Henry. "And you understand the
power of your position excellently well."

"Why, I believe I do," said the other, with a little laugh. And this,
though they had never touched hands, was (as we may say) the end of the
brothers' meeting; for at this the Master turned to me and bade me fetch
his baggage.

I, on my side, turned to Mr. Henry for a confirmation; perhaps with some
defiance.

"As long as the Master is here, Mr. Mackellar, you will very much oblige
me by regarding his wishes as you would my own," says Mr. Henry. "We are
constantly troubling you: will you be so good as send one of the
servants?"--with an accent on the word.

If this speech were anything at all, it was surely a well-deserved
reproof upon the stranger; and yet, so devilish was his impudence, he
twisted it the other way.

"And shall we be common enough to say 'Sneck up'?" inquires he softly,
looking upon me sideways.

Had a kingdom depended on the act, I could not have trusted myself in
words; even to call a servant was beyond me; I had rather serve the man
myself than speak; and I tu