"Then we shall not meet again, for in an hour I am off to my club. Good-night, my dear."
And Charlotte could not help noticing how soft and catlike were the footsteps of the old Australian uncle as he stole away.
CHAPTER X.
JOHN AND JASPER HARMAN.
Jaspar Harman was sixty years old at this time, but the days of his pilgrimage had passed lightly over him, neither impairing his frame nor his vigor. At sixty years of age he could think as clearly, sleep as comfortably, eat as well—nay, even walk as far as he did thirty years ago. His life in the Antipodes seemed to have agreed with him. It is true his hair was turning gray, and his shrewd face had many wrinkles on it, but these seemed more the effects of climate than of years. He looked like a man whom no heart-trouble had ever touched and in this doubtless lay the secret of his perpetual youth. Care might sweep him very close, but it could not enter an unwelcome guest, to sit on the hearth of his holy of holies; into the innermost shrine of his being it could scarcely find room to enter. His was the kind of nature to whom remorse even for a sin committed must be almost unknown. His affections were not his strong point. Most decidedly his intellect overbalanced his heart. But without an undue preponderance of heart he was good-natured; he would pat a chubby little cheek, if he passed it in the street, and he would talk in a genial and hearty way to those beneath him in life. In business matters he was considered very shrewd and hard, but those who had no such dealings with him pronounced him a kindly soul. His smile was genial; his manner frank and pleasant. He had one trick, however, which no servant could bear—his step was as soft as a cat's; he must be on your heels before you had the faintest clue to his approach.
In this stealthy way he now left his niece's room, stole down the thickly carpeted stairs, crept across a tiled hall, and entered the apartment where his elder brother waited for him.
John Harman was only one year Jasper's senior, but there looked a much greater difference between them. Jasper was young for his years; John was old; nay, more—he was very old. In youth he must have been a handsome man; in age for every one spoke of him as aged, he was handsome still. He was tall, over six feet; his hair was silver-white; his eyes very deep set, very dark. Their expression was penetrating, kind, but sad. His mouth was firm, but had some lines round it which puzzled you. His smile, which was rare and seldom seen, was a wintry one. You would rather John Harman did not smile at you; you felt miserable afterwards. All who knew him said instinctively that John Harman had known some great trouble. Most people attributed it to the death of his wife, but, as this happened twenty years ago, others shook their heads and felt puzzled. Whatever the sorrow, however, which so perpetually clouded the fine old face, the nature of the man was so essentially noble that he was universally loved and respected.
John Harmon was writing a letter when his brother entered. He pushed aside his writing materials, however, and raised his head with a sigh of relief. In Jasper's presence there was always one element of comfort. He need cover over no anxieties; his old face looked almost sharp as he wheeled his chair round to the fire.
"No, you are not interrupting me," he began. "This letter can keep; it is not a business one. I never transact business at home." Then he added, as Jasper sank into the opposite chair, "You have been having a long chat with the child. I am glad she is getting fond of you."