is reply as he passed through the lovely village where
every man, woman, and child knew him and greeted him with warmly
welcoming joy, and he was pondering on it as he rode through the park
gates and under the big beech-trees which formed the avenue.

"Somewhat had saddened him," he thought. "Pray God it has passed," and
was aroused from his thinking by a sound of horses' feet, and looking
up saw my lord cantering towards him on his brown hackney, and with
brightly smiling face.

They greeted each other with joyful affection, as they always did in
meeting, and my lord's welcome had a touch of even more loving warmth
than usual. He had come out to meet his guest and kinsman on the road,
and had thought to be in time to join him earlier and ride with him
through the village.

"On my soul, Gerald," he said, gaily, "'tis useless that you should
grow handsomer and taller each time you leave us. Surely, there is a
time for a man to be content. Or is it that when you are absent one
sees gentlemen of proportions so much more modest that when you return
we must get used to your looks again. Your sunburn is as becoming as
your laurels."

His own worn look had passed. Osmonde had never seen him so well and
vigorous, being indeed amazed by his air of freshness and renewed
youth. His finely cut, high bred countenance had gained a slight
colour, his sweet grey eyes were clear and full of light, and he bore
himself more strongly and erect. For the first time within his
remembrance of him, my lord Duke observed that he wore another colour
than black, though it was of rich, dark shade, being warm, deep brown,
and singularly becoming him, his still thick grey hair framing in
silver his fine, gentle face.

"And you," Osmonde answered him, marking all these things with
affectionate pleasure, "your weariness has left you. I have never seen
you look so young and well."

"Young!" said my lord, smiling, "at sixty-eight? Well, in truth, I feel
so. Let us pray it may not pass. 'Tis hope--which makes new summer."

They dined alone, and sitting over their wine had cheerful talk. A man
is not absent from his native land for two good years, even when they
are spent in ordinary travel, without on his return having much to
recount in answer to the questionings of his friends; but two years
spent in camp and Court during a great campaign may furnish hours of
talk indeed.

Yet though their conversation did not flag, and each found pleasure in