"It did seem so," replied Paul, sinking wearily back again on his pillows. "But it could have been but a sick man's fancy. I doubt I shall never live to hear that voice again."
"Whose voice did you think you heard?" asked Jack; then, as Paul did not answer, "Was it your father's?"
"It did, indeed, seem like his," returned Paul. "But I know it could not be. Oh, could I but once fall at his feet like the poor prodigal!"
"The prodigal did not fall at his father's feet, though he might have meant to do so," said Jack, softly. "When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him."
Paul started up with more energy than one would have thought possible. "Have you brought my father to me?" he cried. "Is he here?"
"Hush hush!" said Jack, gently laying him back on the pillow. "Do but be quiet and composed, and all shall be well. There is, indeed, a worthy gentleman below stairs, and when I see you yourself again, I will bring him to your bedside."
Great was the amazement and delight of Mary Brent when Sir John, coming down-stairs from his long interview with her lodger, took her by the hand, and, in fitting and formal phrase, thanked her for the kindness she had shown to his only son and heir.
She could hardly comprehend the matter, and looked from Sir John to Jack in evident bewilderment.
"Do you not understand?" said Jack. "The young gentleman above is Mr. Arthur Paul Brydges, Sir John Brydges's son, long in captivity in foreign parts and supposed to be dead. He was on his way home when he was wrecked and saved by your son Davy."
No happier or prouder woman than Mary Brent could be found in all Bridgewater and Somersetshire to boot. It was plain that Paul, or Arthur, as we must now call him, could not be moved at present; so fitting furniture and garnishing was procured for Mary's empty rooms, and the next day Lady Brydges and her waiting gentlewoman came in from the Hall and took up their lodging with the shipmaster's widow.