Mark sprang into his father’s arms, and they embraced. They wrung each other’s hands warmly, and the reconciliation was complete.
Harry Vivian would have retired, to leave the father and son to themselves, though Colonel Mires did not offer to move, but old Wilton waved his hand to him to stay.
“You will oblige me by remaining, if you please, Mr. Vivian,” he said, making an effort to clear his voice. “We will settle our little unpleasant conference before you take your departure. You must see that it will be wise to do so—nay, that it will emphatically be necessary to do so.”
“What!” exclaimed young Wilton, suddenly: “is that Mr. Harper’s nephew?”
Old Wilton assented grandly with, his head. The manner was distinctly patronising.
Alas! how easy it is to forget past services, when the remembrance would interfere with present selfish considerations!
Young Wilton advanced rapidly to where Vivian stood, and seized his hand.
“Hal!” he cried.
“Mark!” exclaimed Hal.
The grasp of the hand that followed was not less warm and earnest than that which had taken place between father and son.