"And you'd like some supper, I dare say," continued his uncle.
"Yes, by and by," the nephew managed to answer.
A silence fell upon them here,—long and deep,—in which the eternal murmur of the sea stole in. Trafford's eyes did not move from the boy's face; and at last he said, taking his hand,—
"You're wonderfully like your father, Noll,—in more ways than one, I hope. Can a lad like you ever be contented in this old house?"
"I—I hope so, Uncle Richard," Noll replied, mocking these words, however, by a very despairing tone.
Trafford smiled grimly. "He's weary of it already," he thought; "and who can wonder? Noll and I couldn't have endured it at his age, I suppose." Then he added aloud, "If you tire of it, Noll, you shall have liberty to return to Hastings whenever you choose. You're not to stay against your will, remember. You may find it lonely and dull, perhaps; if so, I leave you to go or stay, as you choose."
The tone in which this was spoken was so sad that Noll ventured to look up into his uncle's face. The gray eyes had lost their stern light, and looked very sorrowful.
"I—I will never want to go back, Uncle Richard, if you would like me to stay," he said, quickly.
"Ah, you don't know what you say, Noll," Trafford answered, stroking the boy's hair; "it's a lonely place. For a boy it is horrible. Even I sometimes find it but a weary resting-place. Ah! wait and see, wait and see. I've little hope you'll stay longer than a month."
At this Noll's heart gave a leap of joy. "Do you really hope I'll stay, Uncle Richard?" he cried.