CHAPTER XIII
MR. AMBER DOES NOT RECOGNISE
I
It was in dreams that night that vague, secret influences of his sight of Burdon House came stealing about him—if such they were; he attributed them to the disturbance of an event that greeted him within a few hours of his gay arrival at "Post Offic."
He had announced his coming by telegram. He took Plowman's Ridge on leaving the train at Great Letham, old friend wind greeting him with most boisterous Ha! Ha! Ha! and as he came down the slope two figures broke from the little copse and came fluttering up the Downside towards him—one slight with running tears, and outstretched, eager arms; the other gaunt and grim, uncompromising of visage, but with eyes aglisten.
"Aunt Maggie! Aunt Maggie!"
"My boy! My Percival!"
Her boy's arms went about her: for a space neither moved after that first cry. He only held her—close, close to him; she only clung to him, her face to his, and felt his dear face stop her flowing tears.
He held her from him then at arm's length, the better to gaze at her; and she overcame her foolish tears and told him: "How you have grown! How handsome you have grown!"