“He tried, but Mr. Temple wouldn't take it. I had the matter in hand, and know. This was some three years ago. He has never offered it since—not to my knowledge.”
Harry's face lightened. Some trace of decency was still left in the Rutter blood! This money was in all honor owed by his father and might still become an asset if he and his uncle should ever become reconciled.
“And can you tell me how they all are—out at Moorlands? Have you seen my father lately?”
“Not your father, but I met your old servant, Alec, a few days ago.”
“Alec!—dear old Alec! Tell me about him. And my mother—was she all right? What did Alec say, and how did the old man look?”
“Yes; your mother was well. He said they were all well, except Colonel Rutter, whose eyes troubled him. Alec seemed pretty much the same—may be a little older.”
Harry's mind began to wander. The room and his companion were forgotten. He was again at Moorlands, the old negro following him about, his dear mother sitting by his bed or kissing him goodnight.
For an instant he sat gazing into the smouldering embers absorbed in his thoughts. Then as if some new vista had opened out before him he asked suddenly:
“You don't know what he was doing in town, do you? Was my mother with him?”
“No, he was alone. He had brought some things in for Mr. Seymour—some game or something, if I remember right. There's to be a wedding there soon, so I hear. Yes, now I think of it, it WAS game—some partridges, perhaps, your father had sent in. The old man asked about you—he always does. And now, Mr. Rutter, tell me about yourself—have you done well?” He didn't think he had, judging from his general appearance, but he wanted to be sure in case St. George asked him.