"Wait! Please don't go yet, sir," a strangely familiar voice exclaimed, in a low, urgent tone. "I must see you."
"Great God! Mike, is it you?" Charles lowered his hoe and stood peering through the gloom.
"Yes, sir, it is me, Mr. Charles," was the faltering reply. "I hope you won't be angry, but I felt that I must see you. I waited till night, thinking it would please you for me to do so."
"My God! Mike!" was all Charles could say, as he reached out his hand and dropped his hoe.
"Yes, sir. I hope you will forgive me. I haven't the right to do all this, considering your wishes, sir, but I couldn't keep from it, sir. I saw you about a year ago in Madison Square in New York. You were with a friend, sir, and I dared not address you then, so I followed you and him."
"My Lord! You were that fellow!" Charles laughed out of sheer relief in finding that his greater fears were ungrounded.
"Yes, sir, and I stood watch over the house, hoping to see you alone, but you both got away that night, and—"
"Thank God! Mike—I'm glad—rejoiced to see you!" and Charles affectionately wrung the hand that was in his. "How are the people at home?"
"All well, sir—your brother, the missus and the little girl. She is always asking about you—can't seem to understand like—like—well, like the others."
"I see," and a sudden chill passed over Charles at the thought now in his mind. "But, Mike, how did you happen to locate me? Surely they don't know at home that I am down here."