Dick’s conjecture proved true, inasmuch as before the breakfast bell rang the prodigal walked up to the garden gate.
This time he underwent a more careful examination, the result of which was to impress the master of the house in a favourable manner. Though dressed much as before, there was some improvement in his appearance. He came forward now, with the advantage conferred by rest and good entertainment. His regular features, as Mr. Effingham now thought, showed plainly the marks of aristocratic lineage. The eyes, especially, were bold and steadfast, while his figure, hardened by the toils of a backwoods life, in its grand outline and muscular development, aroused the admiration of a professional connoisseur. The bronzed face had lost its haggard expression, and it was with a frank smile that he raised his hat slightly and said, ‘Good-morning, sir. I have come to thank you for your kindness and hospitality.’
‘I am pleased to have been enabled to afford it,’ said the master of the establishment; ‘but is there nothing more that I can do for your father’s son?’
The man started; a frown set the lower part of his face in rigid sternness. After a moment’s pause the cloud-like expression cleared, and with softened voice he said:
‘I see they have told you. I thought the old stock-rider knew me; he was here before we lived at Warbrok. Yes, it is all true. I am Hubert Warleigh.’
Mr. Effingham’s impulsive heart was stirred within him, at these words, to a degree which he himself would hardly have admitted. The actual presentment of this cadet of an old family—once the object of a mother’s care, a mother’s prayers—fallen from his position and compelled to wander over the country, meanly dressed and carrying a burden in this hot weather, touched him to the heart. He walked up to the speaker, and laying his hand upon his arm, said in tones of deep feeling:
‘My dear fellow, will you let me advise you, as I should thank any Christian man to do for my son in like need? Stay with us for a time. I may be able to assist you indirectly, if not otherwise. At the worst, the hospitality of this house—of your old home—is open to you as long as you please to accept it.’
‘You are kind—too kind, sir,’ said the wanderer, while his bold eyes softened, and for a moment he turned his face towards the lake. ‘The old place makes me feel like a boy again. But it will never do—it’s too late. You don’t know the ways of this country yet, and you might come to repent being so soft—I mean so good-natured.’
‘I will take the risk,’ persisted Effingham. ‘Let me see you restored to your proper standing in society, and following any occupation befitting a gentleman, and I shall hold myself fully repaid.’
The stranger smiled, half-sadly, half-humorously, as he seated himself on a fence-rail.