“He didn’t want to go,” said ’Linda, slowly, with her eyes still turned toward where the two figures had disappeared.
“No, but I’ll warrant he’ll want to stay,” said the captain sagely, with a laugh.
They fell to talking of him, and of the wonder of his sudden fortune; and from that the captain drifted into telling them of London, and of the width and length of its streets, and the glory of its buildings, and the wonder and mystery that the monster held, a riddle never to be read. He went on talking of the place, as he had known it years before, almost forgetful of his audience, while the children listened breathlessly. Presently, remembering where he was, and that time was flying, he got up abruptly, and took a hand of each and marched them off to his cottage to dinner.
Comethup felt his cousin’s absence more than might have been supposed. Now that there was no longer any necessity for fitting in his meetings with the boy and with the captain so as to preserve with nicety the balance between them, he blamed himself, in his sensitive little soul, for possible past neglect, remembered that Brian had called to him last of all before he disappeared, and wished many times that he could have made some atonement. The charm of Brian’s light-hearted, mad way of taking life, his resource and daring, were full upon the gentler boy; his disappearance to claim that mysterious fortune which awaited him seemed but a fitting part of all he had done before. Comethup thought of him at night when he lay awake; pictured him in those wondrous streets and palaces and buildings, the glory of which the captain had but faintly suggested; saw him petted and admired; looked forward to a time when he would come back to the sleepy old town, richly dressed, perhaps even with a carriage and prancing horses, to pay a flying visit to his old friends.
Nearly a week went by, during which he paid his daily visit to the captain, and saw ’Linda once or twice, and went through the old quiet routine. He had almost settled in his own mind that Brian had gone out of his life, and was beginning, with the carelessness of childhood, to dismiss the matter from his mind, or at all events to cease to think strongly about it, when one evening, as he sat at the window of his father’s house, conning over a lesson which the captain had set him, he heard a shout, and, looking up, saw with astonishment the laughing face of Brian on the other side of the glass, nodding at him. Comethup had time to notice, even as he hurriedly pushed open the window, that there was no new grandeur about Brian: that he wore the clothes he had been accustomed to wear, and looked in every respect precisely as though he had never set out with his father to discover his eccentric aunt and her great wealth.
“Why, you’ve come back!” gasped Comethup.
Brian leaned his elbows easily on the window sill, and nodded and laughed. “Yes,” he said, “I’ve come back. But we had a lot of fun and saw a lot of things. My word, you should see London!”
But Comethup was absolutely palpitating with questions. “But have you come down to see us? And how long do you stay? And when are you going back?”
Brian laughed, and shook his head. “I’m not going back,” he said. “I don’t quite understand it; all I know is that my aunt didn’t like me, and she and dad almost had a fight about it, and called each other names. You never saw such a rumpus. And now we’ve come back, and it’s all over.” He laughed quite light-heartedly and good-naturedly, with no appreciation of the disaster.
“And you won’t have the fortune?” said Comethup, looking at him with wide, distressful eyes.