previous hours: his father's brutal outburst
in the small office and the marvellous effect produced upon him when he
learned the truth from Alec's lips; his hurried departure in the gray
dawn for the ship and his tracing him to Jemima's house. More amazing
still was his present bearing toward himself and St. George; his
deference to their wishes and his willingness to follow and not lead.
Was it his ill-health that had brought about this astounding reformation
in a man who brooked no opposition?--or had his heart really softened
toward him so that from this on he could again call him father in the
full meaning of the term? At this a sudden, acute pain wrenched his
heart. Perhaps he had not been glad enough to see him--perhaps in his
anxiety over his uncle he had failed in those little tendernesses which
a returned prodigal should have shown the father who had held out his
arms and asked his forgiveness. Why was he not more affected by the
sight of his suffering. When he first saw his uncle he had not been able
to keep the tears back--and yet his eyes were dry enough when he saw his
father. At this he fell to wondering as to the present condition of the
colonel's mind. What was he thinking of in that lonely drive. He must
be nearing Moorlands by this time and Alec would meet him, and later the
dear mother--and the whole story would be told. He could see her glad
face--her eyes streaming tears, her heart throbbing with the joy of his
return.

And it is a great pity he could not have thus looked in upon the
autocrat of Moorlands as he sat hunched up on the back seat of the
carryall, his head bowed, the only spoken words being Matthew's cheery
hastening of his horses. And it is even a greater pity that the son
could not have searched as well the secret places of the man's heart:
such clearings out of doubts and misgivings make for peace and good
fellowship and righteousness in this world of misunderstanding.

That a certain rest had come into Rutter's soul could be seen in his
face--a peace that had not settled on his features for years--but, if
the truth must be told, he was far from happy. Somehow the joy he had
anticipated at the boy's home-coming had not been realized. With the
warmth of Harry's grasp still lingering in his own and the tones of his
voice still sounding in his ears, try as he might, he yet felt aloof
from him--outside--far off. Something had snapped in the years they had
been apart--something he knew