“We _will_ talk on this subject,” said Kenneth, rising and standing with head erect and flashing eyes. “I am not a boy, father, as you very well know, and I shall not consent to this sort of thing for a moment. If you have anything in your mind regarding me it is my right to know it, and your duty to tell me. You spoke to-day of my settling down. I have been thinking of it a good deal since, and I am inclined to think you are right about it; but I would like to know just what you mean—just what it is you want me to do.”
“Kenneth, I want you around.” The words came in a muffled tone that was scarcely audible.
“Want me around?” repeated Kenneth incredulously; “why, I thought I drove you to desperation with my lazy ways and erratic hours and general worthlessness.”
“So you do, so you do,” gruffly, “but I like it. I like to know you are in the house. Stay around, Kenneth and you can have things pretty much your own way. We will say no more about settling down to business.”
“Oh! that is all right, father; I’ll stay.” It was a new sensation to find that he was wanted. Moved by a sudden impulse he drew near meaning to grip his father’s hand—the desire was strong within him to get close to the old man. But when he neared the chair he turned sharply on his heel and crossed to the door, withheld by the habit of years.
Mr. Landor was watching him through half-closed lids, and made no sign.
“Good night, father; glad I found you up. I have something in mind I would like to discuss with you later if I am to stay on here.”
“Any time, any time. I have leisure enough for anything of importance. Come in again some time—good night.” His head was turned away as he spoke.
“Poor old governor,” thought Kenneth, as he went to his room; “I believe he is lonely.”
When the door had closed, Caleb Landor sat some moments in deep meditation. Then he rose and slowly crossed the room to a table on which stood a box-shaped rosewood writing-desk curiously inlaid with pearl—the most treasured possession of his mother long since dead. This he unlocked, and lifting the lid pressed a small knob by means of which a secret drawer flew open. In this shallow receptacle lay an oval miniature which the man took out and held under the strong light of the gas jet. It was the face of a woman, young and very beautiful, and for a long while the image held the man transfixed. Once he lifted his head suddenly, as if he thought some one was approaching but it was only the noise of Kenneth’s boots flung upon the floor in an adjoining room. On the mantel a clock ticked solemnly, warning him of the flight of time, and at last he sighed wearily, and with unsteady hands dropped the miniature into its hiding place and locked the desk. For a moment he leaned heavily on the table and appeared to be listening, but all was still in Kenneth’s room. Over the stern impassive features of Caleb Landor came a look of yearning tenderness. Then he put out the gas and went to bed.