"Ah, I'm glad I'll go down to posterity, as that good-looking young fellow. Now, you shall see the original," and Captain Mallender—late of the Blue Hussars—fumbled for a moment with spectacles and beard, then rose, and slowly advanced into the full light of the two candles.
Geoffrey braced himself, and rising from his place stood up to meet his ordeal.
He looked over at the man who confronted him across the table, yet in spite of strong nerves, and a certain amount of preparation, he gave a sharp involuntary cry. What he beheld, was a grey bent old man, wearing a black skull cap; his withered cheeks were deeply sunken, his scanty beard, was white, and oh, the awful noseless face, the bare grinning teeth, the lidless eyeballs,—expressing mute agonised interrogation, and years of hopeless anguish.
The sweat stood out on Mallender's forehead, as his eyes were set in a fixed, and horror-stricken stare.
"You could not blame me for hiding?" asked his Uncle thickly, "could you?"
Mallender caught his breath in a sort of sob, and stammered:
"No."
Then the expatriated victim, turning his back, and resuming his disguise, once more seated himself, and there ensued an eloquent silence. Mallender the younger, was so severely and unexpectedly shaken, that for some moments he could not articulate; he felt completely stunned, and incapable alike of speech or coherent thought. At last he said in a broken voice:
"Oh, Uncle Geoffrey, I can't express—what I feel for you!"
"Thank you, my boy," came the answer in a husky tone, "now that you have had your wish, you understand, don't you?"