To her utter consternation and amazement, a manly voice replied, impatiently:
“Your long-lost brother, Rebecca. Open the door. This wind is very cutting!”
Unlocking the door, a traveler stepped into the hall—a tall, brown-bearded man of perhaps forty-five, blue-eyed, and rarely handsome.
“Welcome, Everard!” she cried, and put her arm around his neck and kissed him with unwonted affection.
He had been her baby half-brother when she was married, the pet and pride of the family.
“Oh, I have such news for you! This return is very timely!” she exclaimed, when they were seated again by the fireside.
Thereupon she poured out the exciting story of his daughter’s engagement, dilating with unusual volubility on the eligibility of the suitor.
“I suppose I shall have to consent,” he said, carelessly; then: “Oh, by the way, what is the young man’s name?”
“Arthur Varian.”
The man sprung to his feet as if she had thrust a knife into his heart.