"Oh, blazes! 'twas a slip of the tongue, sir," cried Kerry anxiously. "Don't notice it, sir. Sure, it's old I am, and my mind wanders."
"Then you deny that you are Denis Bantry?"
"Say nothing of that, sir. Let the master speak his own mind to you. You'll know soon enough who I am, and that's a fact, anyhow."
"I am convinced in my own mind that you are my father's old servant," said Larcher, as he resumed his walk, "but who your master is I am not so clear."
Kerry shook his head, and pursed up his lips, as though determined to let no information escape him. They walked along in silence, and it was only when he unlocked the gate in the red brick wall that Kerry again opened his mouth.
"Keep silent, sir, if you love me," he said, in a low tone. "Don't agitate the master. He'll do the speaking, and tell ye all ye wish to know. Begad, and more too."
Larcher nodded, and passed into the garden. The morning was warm and sunny, and the colors of the flowers were dazzling in the warm glow, against the white walls of the cottage. With his hands clasped behind his back, Paynton paced meditatively up and down the path before the house, but stopped as he caught sight of his visitor. Taking off his hat in tribute to the venerable looks of the old gentleman, Claude bowed, and waited to be addressed. For some moments Paynton looked at him in silence, with much emotion, then controlling himself with some difficulty held out his hand.
"I am glad to see you, Mr.—Mr.——"
"Larcher," suggested Claude, seeing his host at a loss for the name.
"Larcher!" gasped Paynton, with an effort, "yes—yes! My friend, Mr. Hilliston, advised me of your coming. Let us enter the house. We will have more privacy there."