“Do not reproach yourself, sir! Not dreaming of seeing your son, how should you have known him after so many years and in that strange dress?” “By nature, sir! By nature, if I had not been an unnatural monster!” cried the commodore, springing up and striking out for the bell rope. “What are you about to do?” inquired Ronald, intercepting him. “Ring up the whole house and start them in pursuit of him.” “I thought that had been already tried without success.” “True, true,” said the commodore, sinking back in his seat. “He could not be found. He has taken a temporary shelter in some farmer’s house, doubtless. But he will come back before night. He could never imagine that I would deny _him_!” “No, never; and I dare say he never even left the house at all, but is waiting in some vacant room for a good chance to make himself known.” “Nothing more likely!” exclaimed the commodore, standing up again. “They have looked for him too far away. They have _over_looked him. They should have sought him nearer at hand.” And so saying he went for the bell. “Stay! do not call a servant! Let me go and institute a search,” said the lieutenant. “Yes, thanks, that is better,” agreed the old man. Ronald Bruce left the library and flew, bound beyond bound, up the stairs to the chamber where he had left Lonny. He found the “tramp” washed, combed, shaved, trimmed, dressed, and looking not like the original of his portrait, but like the elder brother of the original. The plantation barber, having finished his work, had left the room. “Come,” said Ronald, “he is waiting to see you. No preparation was needed; I found him reading your letter, which had just arrived. Come.” Lonny joined his cousin at once, and both, with beating hearts, went below. “Go in alone. I cannot intrude on such a meeting,” whispered Ronald Bruce as they reached the door. Lonny passed into the library. The commodore stood in the middle of the room, with a look of expectancy on his aged face. “Father!” exclaimed Lonny, hastening towards him. The old man started forward and caught his son to his heart, exclaiming: “Lonny! Lonny! My son! My son! Oh, joy!” CHAPTER XXXIV FATHER AND SON And doth not a meeting like this make amends For all the long years I’ve been wandering away? To see thus around me my youth’s early friends, As smiling and kind as in that happy day? Tho’ surely, o’er some of your brows, as o’er mine, The snow-fall of life may be stealing—what then? Like Alps in the sunset, new lighted, in fine, We’ll wear the warm hue of youth’s roses again. ANON.