“Was that the letter this morning?”
“Yes! Read it.”
Sir John was plainly overcome. “I’m sure it’s a joke,” he muttered over and over again. “It can’t be true. The thing’s impossible.”
All that day work was at a standstill. Hector alone saw to the bodily requirements of the men, and meals as usual were served at their proper times.
“They will be here for the trial,” whispered Sir John excitedly. “Oh my God!” and the old man burst into tears. His grief at the loss of his two nephews had been so great, his affection for them so sincere that he could scarcely realize that in some miraculous way they still lived.
“Will you meet the train?” asked Masters as they retired for the night.
“Yes! Yes! Of course! Take the large car. Are you sure everything is ready for them? You see there will be a lady, too. Desmond’s wife—my niece.”
“Everything is quite all right. We have made the place quite comfortable—we will occupy the two rooms there, and that will leave three bedrooms in the cottage free. Yours, Mr. Alan’s, and the largest, at the front, for Mr. Desmond and his wife.”
“Splendid, Masters, splendid.” It was a glorious, late September morning when the Scotch express steamed in. Alan was out of the train first.
“Uncle,” said he, “dear old uncle.”