w glad I am to see thee, Aubrey, and to perceive thy good welfare in
this place."

He did not add "good conduct," but he meant it.

"How much richer shouldst thou have been, Hans, if thou hadst never
beheld me?" was the answer.

"I should have been poorer, by the loss of the only brother I ever had."

There was more feeling in Aubrey's look than Hans was wont to see, and
an amount of tenderness in his tone which he had no idea how it
astonished Hans to hear.

"My brother," he said, "you have had your revenge, and it is terrible."

Hans looked, as he felt, honestly surprised. It was his nature to
remember vividly benefits received, but to forget those which he
conferred.

"Dost thou not know?" said Aubrey, reading the look. "After my unworthy
conduct toward thee, that thou shouldst take my debts upon thine own--"

"Prithee, shut thy mouth," answered Hans with a laugh, "and make me not
to blush by blowing the trumpet over that which but gave me a pleasure.
I ensure thee, my brother," he added more gravely, "that I had a
sufficiency to cover all was a true contentment unto me. As to revenge,
no such thought ever crossed my mind for a moment."

"The revenge had been lesser if it were designed," was the reply.

"And how goeth it with thee here?" asked Hans, not sorry to change the
subject. "Art thou content with thy work?--and doth Mr Whitstable
entreat thee well?"

"Mr Whitstable is the manner of master good for me," responded Aubrey
with a smile: "namely, not unkindly, but inflexibly firm and just. I
know that from him, if I deserve commendation, I shall have it; and if I
demerit blame, I am evenly sure thereof: which is good for me. As to
content--ay, I am content; but I can scarce go further, and say I find a
pleasure in my work. That were more like thee than me."

"And if it so were, Aubrey, that the Lord spake unto thee and me,
saying, `Work thus no more, but return unto the old life as it was ere
ye came to London town,'--how shouldst thou regard that?"

The momentary light of imagination which sprang to Aubrey's eyes was
succeeded and quenched by one of wistful uncertainty.

"I cannot tell, Hans," said he. "That I were glad is of course: that I
were wise to be glad is somewhat more doubtful. I am afeared I might
but slip back into the old rut, and fall to pleasing of myself. Riches
and liberty seem scarce to be good things for me; and I have of late,"--
a little hesitation accompanied this p