Then he heard a voice, a low, hesitating childish voice, say, "Uncle Leo."
He started. The voice sounded like one he knew. But already it had all dawned on him. A stream of ice seemed to flow from his heart and paralyse his limbs. He could not move.
And again he heard, "Uncle Leo."
There lay in the timid, trembling tone a gentle questioning reproach which children only use to their particular friends when they consider themselves neglected by them.
Now, worse luck, he was bound to look up. The boy had come out of his corner. With his right arm round the plaid rug, he stood by the table glancing up shyly at Leo with a half-pathetic, half-excited smile.
"Who are you, my little man?" he stammered.... He felt as if he had seen a ghost. Here were her eyes in Rhaden's peaky face.
"Why, I am Paul, of course," said the boy. "Don't you really know me any more, Uncle Leo?"
He forced himself into a joyous exclamation of surprise. There had always been a tie of affection between him and the poor little fellow. He could not hurt his feelings now without cause. His hands clasped together convulsively.
"Warn him not to touch them," something cried aloud within him. But the boy had caught hold of them already, and leaning against him, he began to chatter freely--
"I knew you at once, Uncle Leo. Directly you came in. But what a long beard you've got now. You had a beard before, but it was much shorter. Oh, it is such a dreadful long time since you went away. And I thought when you came back you would sure to bring me something, ... because you always used to bring me presents.... The rocking-horse you gave me once I have got still. But it is too little for me now, and I have got a bigger one, yours is the foal. You should just see how pretty they look together."