Nathan Gomer, with a light step, sprang up the stairs, and arrived at the library door as the servant, in a loud tone of voice, announced--“Mr. Mark Wilton.”
For the moment he was astounded, but recovering himself, he raised his finger to the servant, who recognized him and would have announced him too. He glided behind a screen, and awaited the result of a meeting which he knew would prove of a peculiar kind.
He had no conception of the scene enacting at the moment of Mark’s arrival, and he was to be surprised even yet more than he expected.
Old Wilton, upon the name of his son being announced, started and staggered as if he had been smitten a violent blow; then he drew himself up erect. His flushed face became pale, and his brow remained contracted as sternly as before.
Mark Wilton entered with a hasty step, and advanced rapidly to his father, with the intention of embracing him, but he paused upon observing the old man’s attitude and demeanour.
The old man remained rigid as a statue, and made no sign of taking the proffered hands.
How changed he was since Mark had last seen him! Then in a poor lodging, surrounded by poverty and bowed by care and toil, he seemed the poor haggard slave of want; now, the tenant of a noble mansion, attired as a gentleman, conscious of the position to which he had been born, he looked like a patrician, only to be approached with deference and humility.
But for certain characteristics of feature, Mark would not have known him again.
Wilton regarded his son with a glance which, while it noted the change that time and climate had made in him too, abated none of its sternness.
“Mr. Mark Wilton,” he said, in harsh tones, “years have passed since you flung away your title to address me by the name of father. You quitted my roof by an exercise of your own self-will; you return to me, I presume, under a similar influence, not having during the whole interval communicated with me or any of your relatives. I am therefore to attribute, I suppose, your present visit to the circumstance of a change for the better in my condition reaching your filial ear.” Mark’s face became the hue of crimson. He folded his arms, and looked his father steadfastly in the eyes.