And now was sister. He did not notice that she caught her breath when the blood came into her face as he took her hand, nor that she disengaged his clasp before she spoke. Only that in her gentle voice, "You must not let it upset you, Percival," she told him. "You are coming back so happy. You must not let this spoil it."
"But it does," he said. "It does. I can't enjoy myself—I can't be happy while he's near here perhaps—those brutes after him. We'll have to look out for him, Ima. You and I. He'll not be afraid of us. We'll go all round the place together. He'll come to us if he sees us."
"Yes—yes," she said, and seemed glad.
"What does old Rollo say?"
"Ah, Lord Burdon—Lord Burdon is longing to see you. Of Hunt I don't know what he says. But of you—Percival, he's longing for you. He's not been very well. He's kept to the house. He sent word how he had looked forward to meeting you at the station but could not, and begged you would go up to him as soon as ever you arrived. You must."
"Why, of course I will," Percival said, and with recollection of Rollo—and of Rollo longing for him—was temporarily removed from the gloom that had beset him and returned to the anticipation of all that awaited him.
"I will, of course. He's not ill?"
"He's ever so much stronger since he came back. Only a cold that keeps him in. He has to keep well for the festivities, of course."
Her reference was to the great twenty-fourth birthday celebrations—the coming of age according to Burdon tradition—and Percival agreed eagerly. "Why, rather! He'll want all his voice for the speeches! I was afraid once I'd not get back in time. As it is, I've only just done it. The nineteenth, next week, his birthday, isn't it?"
"Next Thursday," Ima said, smiling to see him smile again.