Then, I had such a fear of the ocean I dared not go to you and was afraid to have you come to me. Can you forgive me?"

"My darling mother," said young Quincy, "what you did turned out for the best. I have been educated as an American and that fully atones for my apparent neglect. Your beautiful letters kept you always in my mind, and I used to take great pleasure in telling my schoolmates what a pretty mother I had."

Alice, despite her years, blushed.

"Quincy, you are like your father in praising those you love."

Tom gave Quincy's father graphic descriptions of the changes in Fernborough and fully endorsed his friend's opinion of Mr. Strout.

"He's a snake in the gra.s.s," said Tom. "He'd pat you on the back with one hand and cut your throat, figuratively speaking, with the other."

"Do you think he'd recognize me?" asked Quincy.

"I think not," said Tom. "His perceptive powers are not strong. He's sub-acute rather than 'cute."

Quincy and Alice sat for hours looking out upon the wide expanse of ocean, and at the blue sky above them. It did not seem possible that so many years had pa.s.sed since they were together. Memory is a great friend. It bridged the great gap in their lives. They were lovers as of yore, and would be always. They did not hesitate to talk of the cruel past--not sadly, for were they not in the happy present?

Said Alice one morning, "While you were gone I was in a terribly nervous condition. Aunt Ella said that I must have something to employ my mind--and I wrote, or tried to write. I couldn't keep my mind on one thing long enough to write a story, but I have collected the material for one, and now that I am happy once more, when we have settled down, I am going to write it."

"What's the t.i.tle, or, rather, the subject?" her husband inquired.

"Oh, it opens with a ship-wreck--not a collision but a fire was the cause. Among the pa.s.sengers are many children--of high and low degree--and they get mixed up--fall into wrong persons' hands,--fathers and mothers are lost and cannot claim them, and their future lives have supplied me with the strongest and most intricate and exciting plot that I have ever constructed."

"Which is the 'star' child?"

"He is the son of a Russian Grand Duke--the offspring of a morganatic marriage--his mother is driven from the country by order of the Czar.

The t.i.tle is _The Son of Sergius_."

They did not remain in New York but took the first train for Boston.

They were driven to the Mount Vernon Street house.

"I knew you were coming," cried Maude, as she ran eagerly down the steps to meet them.

"Who has turned traitor? I pledged them all to secrecy," cried Quincy.

"Harry told me, and I had a cablegram from Florence."

"Did she use my name? If so, we are undone and the reporters will swarm like bees."

"You are safe," said Maude. "The message read: Brother found. Keep quiet."

Tom was prevailed upon to remain in Boston until Quincy could go to Fernborough. At supper they were introduced to Maude's family.

"Six of them," said Quincy. "I am uncle to a numerous extent. Maude, what are all their names--the girls first."

"This is Sarah, named after mother; Ella for Aunt Ella, and little Maude for her mother."

"Good! Now the boys."

"Stuart--the old gentleman was so nice to Harry and me when we were on our wedding tour--Nat for father, and Harry--"

"Thank Heaven--no Quincy. That name was becoming contagious. I am glad, Maude, that you were wise and kept the epidemic out of your family."

That evening Quincy and Mr. Merry talked about business matters. Harry told of Hiram's accident and the destruction of the store by fire.

"There's something funny about it," said Harry. "We authorized Mr.

Strout to rebuild and restock at once, and we hear that he has done so, but he has not called on us for a dollar, nor has he sent up any bills for payment."

"I wish you would send a telegram to Mr. Ezekiel Pettingill the first thing to-morrow morning asking him to come to the city--say important business."

About three o'clock Ezekiel arrived at the office of Sawyer, Crowninshield, Lawrence and Merry. He was shown into what had been the late Hon. Nathaniel's private office, and came face to face with Quincy.

"I'm heartily glad to see you again," he exclaimed as he wrung Quincy's helpless hand after the first surprise of the meeting. "Huldy'll be delighted too. You must come down and tell us all about it. Just to think--more'n twenty years--but you're looking well."

Quincy a.s.sured him that his health was never better.

"What I wanted to see you about are affairs in Fernborough. What is Strout up to?"

"You've used just the right word. He's up to something. He's got up a sign--O. Strout, Fine Groceries--an' says Hiram's out of the firm, and that he owns the whole business."

Quincy smiled. "So, I've got to fight it out with him again, have I?

Well it will be the final conflict. To use Mr. Strout's words, one or the other of us will have to leave town. You aren't going back to-night?"

"Oh, I must."

"Well, come up to the house first and see Alice and the boy. Well go down to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE FINAL CONFLICT

When Tom Chripp showed his father the photograph of the house in which he was born, he burst into tears.

"Just as pretty as ever," he exclaimed. "The roof's been mended, beent it, and just the same flowers all around it as when I was a boy. Tom, I'm glad to see you back safe and sound--but that picter--Tom, when I die, you just put that picter in the coffin with me, won't you? I want your grandfather to see that the old place was looked after when he was gone."

Tom promised.

A dark featured, dark haired man entered Mr. Strout's store. The proprietor knew he was a stranger--perhaps just moved into town, and a prospective customer.

"What can I do for you?" he inquired blandly, for he was capable of being affable.

"I am looking for Mr. Hiram Maxwell."

"He ain't here no more."