It was all true. He had stormed the situation in a fashion which neither Comethup nor the captain would have dreamed of; had flung himself joyously, as it were, into the midst of a matter from which they had innocently plotted to exclude him. ’Linda, too, had entertained him with an account of all that had happened: of her expeditions with Comethup and the captain, down to the minutest details, proud of the fact that she had so much to tell to this new and charming companion.
Comethup and the captain, with a quick mutual appreciation of the matter born of their intimacy, glanced at each other rapidly; the captain turned away his head, and sighed a little. ’Linda saw that, in some strange fashion, she had offended her former friends; the keen edge had been taken from the adventure, and she looked at Comethup with a little sudden quivering of the lip. Brian, blissfully unconscious, lay on his back on the ground, whistling softly to himself.
The situation was becoming embarrassing, and the captain had just cleared his throat, with the idea of making some commonplace remark which should set them all at their ease, when, looking up, he descried another figure coming swinging toward them at a rapid rate. The swirl of the coat-tails and the poise of the hat were not to be mistaken. He exclaimed hurriedly, “Brian, here’s your father!”
Brian Carlaw turned lazily over on one side and surveyed the approaching figure; resumed his former attitude, and said with a laugh: “I suppose he’s come to kill me; I didn’t think he’d find me here.” He appeared quite unconcerned about the matter, and Comethup could not help looking at him with increasing admiration as he observed his indifference to the approaching danger.
But it was obvious, as Mr. Robert Carlaw drew nearer, that he had no hostile intention. He was apparently greatly agitated, and seemed to be shouting something to them as he almost ran forward over the ground. He waved in his right hand a sheet of paper. He came upon the waiting group literally at a bound, and so out of breath that for a few moments he could do nothing but alternately thump his chest and tap the sheet of paper with a trembling forefinger and stretch it out appealingly toward his son. His dignity was too great to permit him to sit down, even on the bank beside the captain; he remained pacing about, and gaspingly endeavouring to speak for some moments, before he could get a word out, and when the words came they were, in view of what Brian said, certainly surprising.
“My son, my beloved son!” He stretched out his arms toward the recumbent boy, and something seemed to catch in his throat, as though he swallowed with difficulty.
Brian raised himself on one elbow and looked at his father through half-closed eyes. “I thought you were going to lick me,” he said.
Mr. Robert Carlaw again agitatedly indicated the letter. “My boy, forgive me, I beg. This is a moment when indiscretion, hastinesses of temper, may be forgotten. This is a moment that comes but once in every man’s life. You are not—not too young to understand. My boy, I have sought for you”—he swept his arm vaguely toward the horizon—“everywhere. I have been cut—cut to the heart at the thought that I—I had driven you from me. My son, thank Heaven I have found you!” He took off his hat, breathed heavily, and mopped his face with a delicate handkerchief. They looked at him in astonishment, not unmixed with awe; he appeared to be so terribly in earnest.
“Is anything the matter?” asked the captain, breaking a silence which began to be oppressive.