The orange, scarcely tasted, rolled over the bed and fell on the floor. I heard him rise to pick it up.
I opened my eyes and looked at the distant pines through the window.
"Doctor," I muttered, "I am heartsick for a familiar face. Where are the people who have lived in this house? It is scarce four months that I have been away, yet all is changed and strange—new servants everywhere, no old, friendly faces—nay, even Peter has grown so gross and sullen that I scarce knew him. Where is Esk? Is there not one soul unchanged?"
"Have I changed?" he asked.
"Yes—you are gray! gray!—and smaller; and you stoop when you sit."
After a moment he said: "These are times to age all men. Have you yourself not aged in these five months? You went away a fresh-faced lad, scarce weaned from your alley-taws and the chalky ring! You return a man, singed already by the first breath of a fire which will scorch this land to the bedded rock!"
Presently I asked, "Is war certain?"
He nodded, looking at the floor.
"And—and the Six Nations?" I asked again.
"On our side surely," he said, in a low voice.