“Even so sir,” responded the other, as he slowly advanced into the strong light, his arms folded upon his breast, and his brow stern and contracted.
“Mark!—my boy! my child!” cried the old man, springing from his chair, and, with a strength that seemed at once to defy age and infirmity, rushed towards him, and threw his arms about him. “He's here—he's with us once more!” said he, in accents half choked by sobs—“my son! my hope! my pride!”—and while the old man poured forth these words of happiness, the young one stood pale, cold, and seemingly apathetic. His eyes bent on vacancy, and his features devoid of all expression of passion, he turned from Sir Archy, who grasped one hand, and looked at Kate, who held the other between hers, but in his gaze there was rather the look of one suddenly recalled to consciousness out of some long-fevered sleep, than the healthful aspect of waking life.
“You are not ill, Mark—you're only fatigued,” said Kate, as a tear slowly trickled down her cheek, and fell upon his hand.
Mark started as he felt the drop, and looked at her with a searching glance, then turned his eyes towards Hemsworth, and back again to her, and for the first time a stern and scornful smile curled upon his lip. Kate seemed to read the glance, and returned it with a look, proud and haughty as his own, while dropping his hand, she walked towards her chair without speaking.
“We maun let him hae a bit supper as soon as may be,” said Sir Archy, whose practical good sense saw how much bodily fatigue influenced the youth's demeanour.
“Supper!” said the O'Donoghue; “ay, faith, every bottle in the cellar would be too little to celebrate the boy's return. Ring that bell, Archy. Where is Kerry? What are the people doing not to know that their young master is here?”
“At another moment, I should beg that Mr. O'Donoghue might remember me,” said Hemsworth, with a deferential bow. “And I hope the time is coming when I may be permitted to renew my acquaintance;—for the present, I feel how unsuited the presence of a stranger is, on an occasion like this, and cannot better show how deeply I appreciate your feeling than by taking my leave.”
So saying, he courteously saluted the O'Donoghue, Sir Archy, and Kate; while, turning to Mark, he proffered his hand, as he said—