And they fell into a silence.
Agatha said at last, “When am I to see Uncle Brian?”
“Very soon, dear. Yet—stay—is not that some one at the door?”
It certainly was. People walked into one another's houses so very unceremoniously at Kingcombe. This visitor, however, paused in the hall, and then opened the parlour-door.
He was a remarkably tall man, with grey hair, and features not unlike Nathanael's, being regular and delicate. But their expression was much harsher, and indicative of a strong will and a settled bitterness, which only passed over when he smiled. This smile was very beautiful, and seemed to steal from his worn and hard-lined aspect at least ten years. Agatha knew who he was immediately.
“Uncle Brian!” Nathanael sprang up, despite his weakness, and they grasped one another's hands as heartily as if they had not met for years.
“Is this your wife?”
“It is indeed; my own dear wife.”
“God bless her.” Mr. Locke Harper took Agatha by the hand, and looked at her keenly. The peculiar expression either of bitterness or melancholy came over his face, but as he watched her it gradually faded off. There seemed an enchantment in the young wife's sweet looks.
“You two are very happy?”