helped the King down, then took him by the hand and rushed within.
A few steps brought him to a spacious apartment; he entered,
seated the King with more hurry than ceremony, then ran toward a
young man who sat at a writing-table in front of a generous fire
of logs.
“Embrace me, Hugh,” he cried, “and say thou’rt glad I am come
again! and call our father, for home is not home till I shall
touch his hand, and see his face, and hear his voice once more!”
But Hugh only drew back, after betraying a momentary surprise, and
bent a grave stare upon the intruder–a stare which indicated
somewhat of offended dignity, at first, then changed, in response
to some inward thought or purpose, to an expression of marvelling
curiosity, mixed with a real or assumed compassion. Presently he
said, in a mild voice–
“Thy wits seem touched, poor stranger; doubtless thou hast
suffered privations and rude buffetings at the world’s hands; thy
looks and dress betoken it. Whom dost thou take me to be?”
“Take thee? Prithee for whom else than whom thou art? I take
thee to be Hugh Hendon,” said Miles, sharply.
The other continued, in the same soft tone–
“And whom dost thou imagine thyself to be?”
“Imagination hath nought to do with it! Dost thou pretend thou
knowest me not for thy brother Miles Hendon?”
An expression of pleased surprise flitted across Hugh’s face, and
he exclaimed–
“What! thou art not jesting? can the dead come to life? God be
praised if it be so! Our poor lost boy restored to our arms after
all these cruel years! Ah, it seems too good to be true, it IS
too good to be true–I charge thee, have pity, do not trifle with
me! Quick–come to the light–let me scan thee well!”
He seized Miles by the arm, dragged him to the window, and began
to devour him from head to foot with his eyes, turning him this
way and that, and stepping briskly around him and about him to
prove him from all points of view; whilst the returned prodigal,
all aglow with gladness, smiled, laughed, and kept nodding his
head and saying–
“Go on, brother, go on, and fear not; thou’lt find nor limb nor
feature that cannot bide the test. Scour and scan me to thy
content, my good old Hugh–I am indeed thy old Miles, thy same old
Miles, thy lost brother, is’t not so? Ah, ’tis a great day–I
SAID ’twas a great day! Give me thy hand, give me thy cheek–
lord, I am like to die of very joy!”
He was about to throw himself upon his brother; but Hugh put up
his hand in dissent, then dropped his chin mournfully upon his
breast, saying with emotion–
“Ah, God of his mercy give me strength to bear this grievous
disappointment!”
Miles, amazed, could not speak for a moment; then he found his
tongue, and cried out–
“WHAT disappointment? Am I not thy brother?”
Hugh shook his head sadly, and said–
“I pray heaven it may prove so, and that other eyes may find the
resemblances that are hid from mine. Alack, I fear me the letter
spoke but too truly.”
“What letter?”
“One that came from over sea, some six or seven years ago. It
said my brother died in battle.”
“It was a lie! Call thy father–he will know me.”
“One may not call the dead.”
“Dead?” Miles’s voice was subdued, and his lips trembled. “My
father dead!–oh, this is heavy news. Half my new joy is withered
now. Prithee let me see my brother Arthur–he will know me; he
will know me and console me.”
“He, also, is dead.”
“God be merciful to me, a stricken man! Gone,–both gone–the
worthy taken and the worthless spared, in me! Ah! I crave your
mercy!–do not say the Lady Edith–”
“Is dead? No, she lives.”
“Then, God be praised, my joy is whole again! Speed thee,
brother–let her come to me! An’ SHE say I am not myself–but she
will not; no, no, SHE will know me, I were a fool to doubt it.
Bring her–bring the old servants; they, too, will know me.”