in evening-dress, and as he raised a hand to his chin quickly, as if in
surprise or perplexity, Gaston noticed that he wore a large seal-ring.
It is singular that while he was engaged with his great event, he was
also thinking what an air of authority the ring gave.

For a moment the two men stood at gaze without speaking, though Gaston
stepped forward respectfully. A bewildered, almost shrinking look came
into Sir William's eyes, as the other stood full in the light of the
candles.

Presently the old man spoke. In spite of conventional smoothness, his
voice had the ring of distance, which comes from having lived through
and above painful things.

"My servant announced you as Sir Gaston Belward. There is some mistake?"

"There is a mistake," was the slow reply. "I did not give my name as Sir
Gaston Belward. That was Falby's conclusion, sir. But I am Gaston Robert
Belward, just the same."

Sir William was dazed, puzzled. He presently made a quick gesture, as if
driving away some foolish thought, and, motioning to a chair, said:

"Will you be seated?"

They both sat, Sir William by his writing-table. His look was now steady
and penetrating, but he met one just as firm.

"You are--Gaston Robert Belward? May I ask for further information?"

There was furtive humour playing at Gaston's mouth. The old man's manner
had been so unlike anything he had ever met, save, to an extent, in his
father, that it interested him. He replied, with keen distinctness: "You
mean, why I have come--home?"

Sir William's fingers trembled on a paper-knife. "Are you-at home?"

"I have come home to ask for my heritage--with interest compounded,
sir."

Sir William was now very pale. He got to his feet, came to the young
man, peered into his face, then drew back to the table and steadied
himself against it. Gaston rose also: his instinct of courtesy was
acute--absurdly civilised--that is, primitive. He waited. "You are
Robert's son?"

"Robert Belward was my father."

"Your father is dead?"

"Twelve years ago."

Sir William sank back in his chair. His thin fingers ran back and forth
along his lips. Presently he took out his handkerchief and coughed into
it nervously. His lips trembled. With a preoccupied air he arranged a
handful of papers on the table.

"Why did you not come before?" he asked at last, in a low, mechanical
voice.

"It was better for a man than a boy to come."

"May I ask why?"

"A boy doesn't always see a sit