“I'll fetch you one,” said she, disappearing within the porch.
Still wistfully looking at the object of his pursuit, Conyers never turned his eyes downwards as the sound of steps apprised him some one was near, and, concluding it to be Miss Barrington, he said, “I'm half afraid that I have torn some of this jessamine-tree from the wall; but see here's the prize!” A slight air of wind had wafted it towards him, and he suatched the fish from its slender chain and held it up in triumph.
“A poacher caught in the fact, Barrington!” said a deep voice from below; and Conyers, looking down, saw two men, both advanced in life, very gravely watching his proceedings.
Not a little ashamed of a situation to which he never expected an audience, he hastily descended the ladder; but before he reached the ground Miss Barrington was in her brother's arms, and welcoming him home with all the warmth of true affection. This over, she next shook hands cordially with his companion, whom she called Mr. Withering.
“And now, Peter,” said she, “to present one I have been longing to make known to you. You, who never forget a well-known face, will recognize him.”
“My eyes are not what they used to be,” said Barrington, holding out his hand to Conyers, “but they are good enough to see the young gentleman I left here when I went away.”
“Yes, Peter,” said she, hastily; “but does the sight of him bring back to you no memory of poor George?”
“George was dark as a Spaniard, and this gentleman—But pray, sir, forgive this rudeness of ours, and let us make ourselves better acquainted within doors. You mean to stay some time here, I hope.”
“I only wish I could; but I have already overstayed my leave, and waited here only to shake your hand before I left.”