ars ago."

"Three years, eh? Where did you go?"

The tone of curiosity had increased. Perhaps the next question would
lead up to some basis on which he could either declare himself or lay
the foundation of a declaration to be made the next day--after he had
seen his mother and Alec.

"To South America. Para was my first port," he answered simply,
wondering why he wanted to know.

"That's not far from Rio?" He was still looking sideways at him, but
there was no wavering in his gaze.

"No, not far--Rio was our next stopping place. We had a hard voyage and
put in to--"

"Do you know a young man by the name of Rutter--slim man with dark hair
and eyes?" interrupted his father in an angry tone.

Harry started forward, his heart in his mouth, his hands upraised, his
fingers opening. It was all he could do to restrain himself. "Don't you
know me, father?" was trembling on his lips. Then something in the
sound of the colonel's voice choked his utterance. Not now, he thought,
mastering his emotion--a moment more and he would tell him.

"I have heard of him, sir," he answered when he recovered his speech,
straining his ears to catch the next word.

"Heard of him, have you? So has everybody else heard of him--a worthless
scoundrel who broke his mother's heart; a man who disgraced his
family--a gentleman turned brigand--a renegade who has gone back on his
blood! Tell him so if you see him! Tell him I said so; I'm his father,
and know! No--I don't want your silks--don't want anything that has to
do with sailormen. I am busy--please go away. Don't stop to bundle them
up--do that outside," and he turned his back and readjusted the shade
over his eyes.

Harry's heart sank, and a cold faintness stole through his frame. He was
not angry nor indignant. He was stunned.

Without a word in reply he gathered up the silks from the chair, tucked
them under his arm, and replacing his cap stepped outside into the fast
approaching twilight. Whatever the morrow might bring forth, nothing
more could be done to-day. To have thrown himself at his father's feet
would only have resulted in his being driven from the grounds by the
overseer, with the servants looking on--a humiliation he could not
stand.

As he stood rolling the fabrics into a smaller compass, a gray-haired
negro in the livery of a house servant passed hurriedly and entered the
door of the office. Instantly his father's voice rang out:

"Where the devil have you been, Alec