Suddenly we heard footsteps, as of those who are running, and my father's voice speaking loud.
'Sing, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, O Israel! Be glad and rejoice with all the heart!'——
'Now, in the name of Heaven,' cried Sir Christopher, 'what meaneth this?'
'The Arm of the Lord! The Deliverance of Israel!'
He burst upon us, dragging a man with him by the arm. In the twilight I could only see, at first, that it was a broad, thick-set man. But my father's slender form looked taller as he waved his arms and cried aloud. Had he been clad in a sheepskin, he would have resembled one of those ancient Prophets whose words were always in his mouth.
'Good friend,' said Sir Christopher, 'what meaneth these cries? Whom have we here?'
Then the man with my father stepped forward and took off his hat. Why, I knew him at once; though it was ten years since I had seen him last! 'Twas my brother Barnaby—none other—come home again. He was now a great strong man—a stouter have I never seen, though he was somewhat under the middle height, broad in the shoulders, and thick of chest. Beside him Robin, though reasonable in breadth, showed like a slender sapling. But he had still the same good-natured face, though now much broader. It needed no more than the first look to know my brother Barnaby again.
'Barnaby,' I cried, 'Barnaby, hast thou forgotten me?' I caught one of his great hands—never, surely, were there bigger hands than Barnaby's! 'Hast thou forgotten me?'
'Why,' he said slowly—'twas ever a boy slow of speech and of understanding—'belike,'tis Sister.' He kissed my forehead. 'It is Sister,' he said, as if he were tasting a cup of ale and was pronouncing on its quality. 'How dost thou, Sister? Bravely, I hope. Thou art grown, Sister. I have seen my mother, and—and—she does bravely, too; though I left her crying. 'Tis their way, the happier they be.'