"Do you want me, sir?" he asked, with rather a suspicious glance at the reprobate's shabby dress. "Yes, Mr. Wilmot, I want to speak to you. You can come into the waiting-room with me, after you've taken your ticket." The clerk stared aghast. The tone of this shabby-looking stranger was almost one of command. "I don't know you, my good sir," stammered Sampson; "I never set eyes upon you before; and unless you are a messenger sent after me from the office, you must be under a mistake. You are a stranger to me!" "I am no stranger, and I am no messenger!" answered the other. "You've got your ticket? That's all right! Now you can come with me." He walked into a waiting-room, the half-glass doors of which opened out of the office. The room was empty, for it only wanted five minutes to the starting of the train, and the passengers had hurried off to take their seats. James Wentworth took off his hat, and brushed his rumpled grey hair from his forehead. "Put on your spectacles, Sampson Wilmot," he said, "and look hard at me, and then tell me if I am a stranger to you." The old clerk obeyed, nervously, fearfully. His tremulous hands could scarcely adjust his spectacles. He looked at the reprobate's face for some moments and said nothing. But his breath came quicker and his face grew very pale. "Ay," said James Wentworth, "look your hardest, and deny me if you can. It will be only wise to deny me; I'm no credit to any one—least of all to a steady respectable old chap like you!" "Joseph!—Joseph!" gasped the old clerk; "is it you? Is it really my wretched brother? I thought you were dead, Joseph—I thought you were dead and gone!" "And wished it, I dare say!" the other answered, bitterly. "No, Joseph,—no!" cried Sampson Wilmot; "Heaven knows I never wished you ill. Heaven knows I was always sorry for you, and could make excuses for you even when you sank lowest!" "That's strange!" Joseph muttered, with a sneer; "that's very strange! If you were so precious fond of me, how was it that you stopped in the house of Dunbar and Dunbar? If you had had one spark of natural affection for me, you could never have eaten their bread!" Sampson Wilmot shook his head sorrowfully. "Don't be too hard upon me, Joseph," he said, with mild reproachfulness; "if I hadn't stopped at the banking-house your mother might have starved!" The reprobate made no answer to this; but he turned his face away and sighed. The bell rang for the starting of the train. "I must go," Sampson cried. "Give me your address, Joseph, and I will write to you." "Oh, yes, I dare say!" answered his brother, scornfully; "no, no, _that_ won't do. I've found you, my rich respectable brother, and I'll stick to you. Where are you going?" "To Southampton." "What for?" "To meet Henry Dunbar." Joseph Wilmot's face grew livid with rage. The change that came over it was so sudden and so awful in its nature, that the old clerk started back as if he had seen a ghost.