"Take this letter down to Trevlyn Farm instantly," was the command. "Instantly, do you hear?"
But in the very act of the groom's taking it from Mr. Chattaway's hand, there came that violent ringing at the hall-door of which you have heard. Sam Atkins, thinking possibly the Hold might be on fire, as the ricks had been not so long ago, flew to open it, though it was not his place to do so.
And Mr. Chattaway, disturbed by the loud and imperative summons, stood where he was, and looked and listened. He saw the entrance of the stranger, and heard the announcement: "Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold."
Miss Diana Trevlyn heard it, and came forth, and they stood like two living petrifactions, gazing at the apparition. Miss Diana, strong-minded woman that she was, did think for the moment that she saw her father. But her senses came to her, and she walked slowly forward to meet him.
"You must be my brother, Rupert Trevlyn!—risen from the dead."
"I am; but not risen from the dead," he answered, taking the hands she held out. "Which of them are you? Maude?"
"No; Diana. Oh, Rupert! I thought it was my father."
It was indeed him they had for so many years believed to be dead; Rupert Trevlyn, the runaway. He had come home to claim his own; come home in his true character; Squire Trevlyn, of Trevlyn Hold.
But Mr. Chattaway, in his worse and wildest dreams, had never bargained for this!