With such thoughts, imperfect and fragmentary, but forerunners of others to come in after years, I hurried forward to greet Mr. Seymour. Hearing me, he turned about, surprised at my appearance, crying out as he came forward and took my hand:
"Hello, Gilbert! Welcome home!"
"Thank you, sir; I'm glad to get back," I answered.
"Where do you come from, and on such a morning?" he asked, looking me over.
"From the Blakes, where I've been since I left here."
"The Blakes—and all this while and we not know it!" he answered, half incredulously. "Why, Blake has been here half the time, and yet has not mentioned your name."
"Yes, sir; but it was agreed that nothing was to be said until Uncle Job had matters fixed up with Moth," I answered.
"Moth couldn't have harmed you. However, you went, and that is the end of it. Now your uncle himself is in trouble, and Moth is egging it on," Mr. Seymour answered, with lowering face.
"That's what brings me back. I didn't know till yesterday, or I'd have come before."
"How does it happen that Blake let you come on foot in such weather?" Mr. Seymour asked, in a voice in which anger and astonishment blended.