Miss Strong returned shortly and found the children asleep on the knees of their uncle. In a moment Silas turned his ear and listened.
"Hark!" he whispered.
They could hear some one approaching on the dark trail. A man oddly picturesque, with a rifle on his shoulder, strode into the firelight. He wore knee-breeches and a coat of buckskin. He had a rugged face, a sturdy figure, and was, one would have guessed, some sixty years of age.
A fringe of thin, white hair showed below his cap. He had a white mustache, through which a forgotten cigar protruded. His black eyes glowed in the firelight beneath silvered brows. He nodded as they greeted him. His ruddy face wrinkled thoughtfully as he turned to Gordon.
"It's a long time," said he, offering his hand.
"Some years," Gordon answered, as he took the hand of Dunmore.
"W-welcome!" said Silas Strong.
"Boneka!" Dunmore exclaimed, gruffly, but with a faint smile. For years it had been his customary word of greeting.
"The Emperor and his court!" he went on, as he looked about him. "Who are these?" He surveyed the sleeping children.
"The Duke and Duchess of Hillsborough—nephew and niece of the Emperor," Master answered, giving them titles which clung to Socky and Sue for a twelvemonth.