eing, that to give vent to it, he would have had to exercise his
muscular strength; he was plastered and painted from head to foot. The
fixture of his wig and hat, too, constrained his skin, so that his looks
were no index of his feelings. I longed gloomily for the moment to come
when he would present himself to me in his natural form. He was not
sensible of the touch of my hand, nor I of his. There we had to stand
until the voluble portion of the margravine's anger came to an end. She
shut her eyes and bowed curtly to our salute.

'You have seen the last of me, madam,' my father said to her whirling
carriage-wheels.

He tried to shake, and strained in his ponderous garments. Temple gazed
abashed. I knew not how to act. My father kept lifting his knees on the
spot as if practising a walk.

The tent was in its old place covering the bronze horse. A workman
stepped ahead of us, and we all went at a strange leisurely pace down
the hill through tall pinetrees to where a closed vehicle awaited us.
Here were also a couple of lackeys, who deposited my father on a bed of
moss, and with much effort pulled his huge boots off, leaving him in
red silk stockings. Temple and I snatched his gauntlets; Temple
fell backward, but we had no thought of laughter; people were seen
approaching, and the three of us jumped into the carriage. I had my
father's living hand in mine to squeeze; feeling him scarcely yet the
living man I had sought, and with no great warmth of feeling. His hand
was very moist. Often I said, 'Dear father!--Papa, I'm so glad at last,'
in answer to his short-breathed 'Richie, my little lad, my son Richmond!
You found me out; you found me!' We were conscious that his thick case
of varnished clothing was against us. One would have fancied from his
way of speaking that he suffered from asthma. I was now gifted with a
tenfold power of observation, and let nothing escape me.

Temple, sitting opposite, grinned cheerfully at times to encourage our
spirits; he had not recovered from his wonderment, nor had I introduced
him. My father, however, had caught his name. Temple (who might as
well have talked, I thought) was perpetually stealing secret glances of
abstracted perusal at him with a pair of round infant's eyes, sucking
his reflections the while. My father broke our silence.

'Mr. Temple, I have the honour,' he said, as if about to cough; 'the
honour of making your acquaintance; I fear you must surrender the hope
of ma