like dis yere bus'ness," and she began to wring her hands.

St. George, who had been listening to the old woman with mingled feelings of wonder and curiosity, raised his hand to silence her.

Whether she had gone daft or was more than usually excited he could not for the moment decide.

"Get your breath, Jemima, and tell me what you're talking about. Who's downstairs?"

"Ain't I jes' don' tol' yer? Got a look on him make ye shiver all over; says he's gwineter s'arch de house. He's got a constable wid him--dat is, he's got a man dat looks like a constable, an'--"

St. George laid his hands on the old woman's shoulders, and turned her about.

"Hush your racket this instant, and tell me who is downstairs?"

"Ma.r.s.e Talbot Rutter," she wheezed; "come f'om de country--got mud all ober his boots."

"Mr. Harry's father?"

Aunt Jemima choked and nodded: there was no breath left for more.

"Who did he ask for?" St. George was calm enough now.

"Didn't ask fer n.o.body; he say, 'I'm lookin' fer a man dat come in yere las' night.' I see he didn't know me an' I neber let on. Den he say, 'Hab you got any boa'ders yere?' an' I say, 'I got one,' an' den he 'tempted ter pa.s.s me an' I say, 'Wait a minute 'til I see ef he's outen de bed.' Now, what's I gwineter do? He doan' mean no good to Ma.r.s.e Harry an' he'll dribe him 'way ag'in, an' he jes' come back an' you gittin'

well a-lovin' of him--an'--"

An uncertain step was heard in the hall.

"Dat's him," Jemima whispered hoa.r.s.ely, behind her hand, "what'll I do?

Doan' let him come in. I'll--"

St. George moved past her and pushed back the door.

Colonel Rutter stood outside.

The two men looked into each other's faces.

"I am in search, sir," the colonel began, shading his eyes with his fingers, the brighter light of the room weakening his sight, "for a young sailor whom I am informed stopped here last night, and who... ST.

GEORGE! What in the name of G.o.d are you doing in a place like this?"

"Come inside, Talbot," Temple replied calmly, his eyes fixed on Rutter's drawn face and faltering gaze. "Aunt Jemima, hand Colonel Rutter a chair. You will excuse me if I sit down--I am just out of bed after a long illness, and am a little weak," and he settled slowly into his seat. "My servant tells me that you are looking for a--"

St. George paused. Rutter was paying no more attention to what he said than if he had been in the next room. He was straining his eyes about the apartment; taking in the empty bed from which St. George had just arisen, the cheap chairs and small pine table and the kitchen plates and cup which still held the remains of St. George's breakfast. He waited until Jemima had backed out of the door, her scared face still a tangle of emotions--fear for her master's safety uppermost. His eyes again veered to St. George.

"What does it all mean, Temple?" he asked in a dazed way.

"I don't think that subject is under discussion, Talbot, and we will, therefore, pa.s.s it. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

"Don't be a d.a.m.ned fool, St. George! Don't you see I'm half crazy? Harry has come back and he is hiding somewhere in this neighborhood."

"How do you know?" he inquired coolly. He did not intend to help Rutter one iota in his search until he found out why he wanted Harry. No more cursing of either his son or himself--that was another chapter which was closed.

"Because I've been hunting for him all day. He rode out to Moorlands yesterday, and I didn't know him, he's so changed. But think of it! St.

George, I ordered him out of my office. I took him for a road-peddler.

And he's going to sea again--he told Alec as much. I tell you I have got to get hold of him! Don't sit there and stare at me, man! tell me where I can find my son!"

"What made you suppose he was here, Talbot?" The same cool, measured speech and manner, but with a more open mind behind it now. The pathetic aspect of the man, and the acute suffering shown in every tone of his voice, had begun to tell upon the invalid.

"Because a man I've got downstairs brought Harry here last night. He is not positive, as it was quite dark, but he thinks this is the place.

I went first to the Barkeley Line, found they had a ship in--the Mohican--and saw the captain, who told me of a man who came aboard at Rio. Then I learned where he had put up for the night--a low sailors'

retreat--and found this peddler who said he had sold Harry the silks which he offered me. He brought me here."

"Well, I can't help you any. There are only two rooms--I occupy this and my old cook, Jemima, has the other. I have been here for over a month."

"Here! in this G.o.d-forsaken place! Why, we thought you had gone to Virginia. That's why we have had no answers to our letters, and we've hunted high and low for you. Certainly you have heard about the Patapsco and what--"

"I certainly have heard nothing, Talbot, and as I have just told you, I'd rather you would not discuss my affairs. The last time you saw fit to encroach upon them brought only bitterness, and I prefer not to repeat it. Anything you have to say about Harry I will gladly hear. Go on--I'm listening."

"For G.o.d's sake, St. George, don't take that tone with me! If you knew how wretched I am you'd be sorry for me. I am a broken-down man! If Harry goes away again without my seeing him I don't want to live another day. When Alec came running back last night and told me that I had cursed my son to his face, I nearly went out of my mind. I knew when I saw Alec's anger that it was true, and I knew, too, what a brute I had been. I ran to Annie's room, took her in my arms, and asked her pardon.

All night I walked my room; at daylight I rang for Alec, sent for Matthew, and he hooked up the carryall and we came in here. Annie wanted to come with me, but I wouldn't let her. I knew Seymour wasn't out of bed that early, and so I drove straight to the shipping office and waited until it was open, and I've been hunting for him ever since. You and I have been boys together, St. George--don't lay up against me all the insulting things I've said to you--all the harm I've done you! G.o.d knows I've repented of it! Will you forgive me, St. George, for the sake of the old days--for the sake of my boy to whom you have been a father?

Will you give me your hand? What in the name of common sense should you and I be enemies for? I, who owe you more than I owe any man in the world! Will you help me?"

St. George was staring now. He bent forward, gripped the arms of his chair for a better purchase, and lifted himself to his feet. There he stood swaying, Rutter's outstretched hand in both of his, his whole nature stirred--only one thought in his heart--to wipe out the past and bring father and son together.

"Yes, Talbot--I'll forgive you and I'll help you--I have helped you!

Harry will be here in a few minutes--I sent him out to get his beard shaved off--that's why you didn't know him."

The colonel reeled and but for St. George's hand would have lost his balance. All the blood was gone from his cheeks. He tried to speak, but the lips refused to move. For an instant St. George thought he would sink to the floor.

"You say--Harry... is here!" he stammered out at last, catching wildly at Temple's other hand to steady himself.

"Yes, he came across Todd by the merest accident or he would have gone to the Eastern Sh.o.r.e to look me up. Listen!--that's his step now! Turn that door k.n.o.b and hold out your hands to him, and after you've got your arms around him get down on your knees and thank your G.o.d that you've got such a son! I do, every hour I live!"

The door swung wide and Harry strode in: his eyes glistening, his cheeks aglow.

"Up, are you, and in your clothes!" he cried joyfully, all the freshness of the morning in his voice. "Well, that's something like! How do you like me now?--smooth as a marlinspike and my hair trimmed in the latest fashion, so old Bones says. He didn't know me either till he got clear down below my mouth and when my chin began to show he gave a--"

He stopped and stared at his father, who had been hidden from sight by the swinging door. The surprise was so great that his voice clogged in his throat. Rutter stood like one who had seen an apparition.

St. George broke the silence:

"It's all right, Harry--give your father your hand."

The colonel made a step forward, threw out one arm as if to regain his equilibrium and swayed toward a chair, his frame shaking convulsively, wholly unstrung, sobbing like a child. Harry sprang to catch him and the two sank down together--no word of comfort--only the mute appeal of touch--the brown hand wet with his father's tears.

For some seconds neither spoke, then Rutter raised his head and looked into his son's face.

"I didn't know it was you, Harry. I have been hunting you all day to ask your pardon." It was the memory of the last indignity he had heaped upon him that tortured him.

"I knew you didn't, father."

"Don't go away again, Harry, please don't, my son!" he pleaded, strangling the tears, trying to regain his self-control--tears had often of late moistened Rutter's lids. "Your mother can't stand it another year, and I'm breaking up--half blind. You won't go, will you?"