Pawson made no reply. He had been studying his guest the closer while he was talking, his mind more on the man than on what he was saying. The old Harry, which the dim light of the hall and room had hidden, was slowly coming back to him:--the quick turn of the head; the way his lips quivered when he laughed; the exquisitely modelled nose and brow, and the way the hair grew on the temples. The tones of his voice, too, had the old musical ring. It was the same madcap, daredevil boy mellowed and strengthened by contact with the outside world. Next he scrutinized his hands, their backs bronzed and roughened by contact with the weather, and waited eagerly until some gesture opened the delicately turned fingers, exposing the white palms, and felt relieved and glad when he saw that they showed no rough usage. His glance rested on his well-turned thighs, slender waist, and broad, strong shoulders and arms--and then his eyes--so clear, and his skin so smooth and fresh--a clean soul in a clean body! What joy would be Temple's when he got his arms around this young fellow once more!
The wanderer reached for his cap and pushed back his chair. For an instant he stood gazing into the smouldering coals as if he hated to leave their warmth, his brow clouded, his shoulders drawn back. He had all the information he wanted--all he had come in search of, although it was not exactly what he wished or what he had expected:--his uncle ruined and an exile; his father half blind and Kate's wedding expected any week. That was enough at least for one night.
He stepped forward and grasped Pawson's hand, his well-knit, alert body in contrast to the loosely jointed, long-legged, young attorney.
“I must thank you, Mr. Pawson,” he said in his old outspoken, hearty way “for your frankness, and I must also apologize for my apparent rudeness when I first entered your door; but, as I told you, I was so astounded and angry at what I saw that I hardly knew what I was doing. And now one thing more before I take my leave: if Mr. Temple does not want his present retreat known--and I gather from the mysterious way in which you have spoken that he does not--let me tell you that I do not want mine known either. Please do not say to any one that you have seen me, or answer any questions--not for a time, at least. Good-night!”