"DEN!—you don't mean to say it's you!"
Their hands met in a prolonged grip.
"You've come back! I am glad!"
"Yes. How are you all?"
"Den—I say—what's wrong with you?"
A man came limping up, in appearance a respectable artisan. He took the child from Ivor's arms. "Sir, no words o' mine can say what me and mine owe to you," he muttered, not noticing Roy. "But sure, sir, God'll reward you."
"I shall be at Colonel Baron's. Come and see me some day—tell me how you're getting on."
"I will, sir—and thank you kindly for everything."
Ivor remained in the same position, and a hand touched Roy. He turned to find himself facing the young artist, Hugh Curtis.
"You back too! That's good. And your wife?"