"Father," he said, "I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you. I've been trying to make up my mind whether I should tell you or not."
"Tell me, James," answered the other. "I'll be bound it's not so very bad after all. You've probably been brooding over it, and have magnified its importance."
"I sincerely hope I have. I am afraid not, however. Do you remember the man we saw at Mudrapilla in the Five Mile Paddock, the night before we left? His name was Murbridge."
The shock to William Standerton was every bit as severe as James had feared it would be.
"What of him?" he cried. "You don't mean to say that he is in England?"
"I am sorry to say that he is," Jim returned. "I found him in the Park this evening on his way up to the house."
The elder man turned and walked to the fireplace, where he stood looking into it in silence. Then he faced his son once more.
"What did he say to you?" he enquired at last, his voice shaking with the anxiety he could not control or hide.
"He said that he wanted to see you, and that he would do so if he had to wait at the gates for a year."
"And he will," said Standerton bitterly; "that man will hunt me to my grave. I have been cursed with him for thirty years, and do what I will I cannot throw him off."