"I'm going," said he abruptly. "Now mind, mother, not a word about Uncle Richard yet; we must first see how we like each other, and--(in a whisper) you'll try and get that into my poor father's head?" "Ay, Richard," said Mrs. Avenel quietly. Richard put on his hat, and went out by the back way. He stole along the fields that skirted the town, and had only once to cross the street before he got into the high road. He walked on till he came to the first milestone. There he seated himself, lighted his cigar, and awaited his nephew. It was now nearly the hour of sunset, and the road before him lay westward. Richard from time to time looked along the road, shading his eyes with his hand; and at length, just as the disc of the sun had half sunk down the horizon, a solitary figure came up the way. It emerged suddenly from the turn in the road: the reddening beams colored all the atmosphere around it. Solitary and silent it came as from a Land of Light. CHAPTER XXIV. "You have been walking far, young man," said Richard Avenel. "No, sir, not very. That is Lansmere before me, is it not?" "Yes, it is Lansmere; you stop there, I guess?" Leonard made a sign in the affirmative, and walked on a few paces: then, seeing the stranger who had accosted him still by his side, he said-- "If you know the town, sir, perhaps you will have the goodness to tell me whereabouts Mr. Avenel lives?" "I can put you in a straight cut across the fields, that will bring you just behind the house." "You are very kind, but it will take you out of your way." "No, it is in my way. So you are going to Mr. Avenel's?--a good old gentleman." "I've always heard so; and Mrs. Avenel--" "A particular superior woman," said Richard. "Any one else to ask after--I know the family well." "No, thank you, sir." "They have a son, I believe; but he's in America, is not he?" "I believe he is, sir." "I see the Parson has kept faith with me," muttered Richard. "If you can tell me any thing about _him_," said Leonard, "I should be very glad." "Why so, young man?--perhaps he is hanged by this time." "Hanged!" "He was a sad dog, I am told." "Then you have been told very falsely," said Leonard, coloring. "A sad wild dog--his parents were so glad when he cut and run--went off to the States. They say he made money; but, if so, he neglected his relations shamefully." "Sir," said Leonard, "you are wholly misinformed. He has been most generous to a relative who had little claim on him; and I never heard his name mentioned but with love and praise."