“To be sure! One would think you had lost your memory. It’s rather dark, certainly; but I knew you, child, in a moment. Haven’t you a kiss for me? Well, Robert, here I am at last.”
[CHAPTER XVII.]
THE NEW-COMER.
ROBERT found a box of matches, and lighted the gas; Cherry letting down the blind again. The brothers could see one another then.
I think Robert and Churton were always very different, even in their boyish days. Certainly it would have been hard to find any likeness between the two that evening.
For Robert was careworn and aged for his years, with grey streaks in his hair, and furrows in brow and cheek; and he had slow quiet manners, and a wonderfully good expression, always kind and thoughtful.
But Churton might have been twenty years the younger. His black hair and beard were quite untouched with grey; and he was stout and strong, with a loud voice. I do so dislike a loud voice, whether in a man or a woman. Churton had once been handsome. His good looks were gone now, however; for his features had grown coarse. While Robert’s had been a life of self-denial, Churton’s had been a life of self-indulgence. One could read the difference of the brothers’ lives in their faces.
“So you wouldn’t have known me?” Churton said to Maimie. She had let him kiss her, and now she was keeping close to my side, looking troubled and pale. “Nor you either, Robert?”
“No, I should not,” Robert answered. “You are a good deal changed. But we are glad to see you again, after all these years.”
“That’s as much of a welcome, I suppose, as the scapegrace of the family can expect,” Churton said, with his harsh laugh. I saw Maimie shrink under it. She had grown used to my husband’s quiet ways. And our boys, with all their high spirits, were not loud-voiced or noisy.