“My dear boy,” said his aunt, “you’re breaking through our compact. Didn’t I tell you you were to go where you liked, and when you liked, and do what you liked? Go and see the captain, by all means. But I think I’d write to him first; the sight of you—giant that you are—would be too great a shock to him if you swept down on him unexpectedly. Write to-day and go to-morrow; never hesitate about these matters.”
Comethup, in his impatience, sent a telegram instead, and started off early the next morning, feeling more than ever the sense of that glorious freedom which had come into his life. He had merely informed the captain that he should arrive in the morning, and had not mentioned the train. Finding, when half his journey was completed, that he would have to wait some considerable time at an out-of-the-way station before catching a train which would take him to his native place, he went on, as he had done before, to Deal, and there ordered a carriage and went the rest of the way by road.
It was a delightful feeling to lounge back in the carriage, on a perfect summer day, with all the country spread in its glory about him, and to know that this life—so rich and full and splendid, so surrounded with every luxury and care and forethought—was to go on and on, through all the years, with no pain or sorrow, with nothing left to hope for beyond what he had secured. His wanderings abroad had already taught him the width and wonder of the world, the pleasant places that were in it, the happy people who laugh along its sunlit ways. Altogether it was a bright and healthy and hopeful prospect that stretched before him, and it was a bright and healthy and hopeful youngster who looked upon the prospect.
The captain’s cottage stood among its roses as of old; seemed only a little smaller even than on the last occasion—a little more as though it had sunk gently down, like a tired old man, and was unable to hold itself quite so erect as before. Comethup walked up the path and stood for a moment in the open doorway of the cottage, and there was the captain.
He was standing in the middle of the little room, and he looked at the young man for a long moment in silence; then, on an impulse, each took a step forward and they clasped hands. Comethup noticed that the captain, like the house, had sunk a little, that his shoulders were bowed ever so slightly, and that his hands seemed thinner. But the touch of the hand was as warm and firm as ever.
“My dear boy,” he said slowly, “it’s such a delight to see you! I suppose the years seem longer when one is growing old; they would have seemed longer still but for your letters. It’s good of you to have remembered an old man, and to have come down to see him.”
“I’d have come before, only I couldn’t very well get away,” said Comethup. “It’s just as good to me to be back in the old place again; no other place seems really like home.”
The captain gave his hands a parting squeeze and let them go. “I suppose,” he said, in a more ordinary tone, “I suppose you’ll be content with your old room here?”
“Of course,” said Comethup, laughing. “Why not? You wouldn’t have me go to the inn, would you?”
“Of course not,” said the captain.