“Did you say here, in this country? Do I understand you aright?”
“Here, in this very spot; there, standing now before you!” said Repton, as he pushed young Martin towards his uncle.
Barry held out his hand, which the young man grasped eagerly; and then, as if unable to resist his emotions longer, fell, sobbing violently, into the other's arms.
“Let us leave them for a while,” said Repton, hurrying over to where Massingbred and the Nelligans were yet standing in silent sorrow.
They left the spot together without a word. Grief had its own part for each. It is not for us to say where sorrow eat deepest, or in which heart the desolation was most complete.
“I'd not have known young Martin,” whispered Nelligan in Repton's ear; “he looks full twelve years older than when last I saw him.”
“The fast men of this age, sir, live their youth rapidly,” replied the other. “It is rarely their fortune to survive to be like me, or heaven knows what hearts they would be left with!”
While they thus talked, Massingbred and Joe Nelligan had strolled away into the wood. Neither spoke. Massingbred felt the violent trembling of the other's arm as it rested on his own, and saw a gulping effort by which more than once he suppressed his rising emotion. For hours they thus loitered along, and at length, as they issued from the demesne, they found Repton and Mr. Nelligan awaiting them.
“Barry Martin has taken his nephew back with him to the cottage,” said Repton, “and we 'll not intrude upon them for the rest of the evening.”