The dull winter sky had already heralded the dusk--it was near four o'clock in the afternoon--when he passed some hayricks where a group of negroes were at work. One or two raised their heads and then, as if reassured, resumed their tasks. This encouraged him to push on the nearer--he had evidently been mistaken for one of the many tradespeople seeking his father's overseer, either to sell tools or buy produce. Tying the horse close to the fence--so close that it could not be seen from the house--he threw the bundle of silks over his shoulder and struck out for the small office in the rear. Here the business of the estate was transacted, and here were almost always to be found either the overseer or one of his assistants--both of them white. These men were often changed, and his chance, therefore, of meeting a stranger was all the more likely. As he approached the low sill of the door which was level with the ground, and which now stood wide open, he caught the glow of a fire and could make out the figure of a man seated at a desk bending over a mass of papers. The man pushed back a green shade which had protected his eyes from the glare of a lamp and peered out at him. It was his father! The discovery was so unexpected and had come with such suddenness--it was rarely in these later days that the colonel was to be found here in the afternoon: he was either riding or receiving visitors--that Harry's first thought was to shrink back out of sight, or, if discovered, to make some excuse for his intrusion and retire. Then his mind changed and he stepped boldly in. This was what he had come for and this was what he would face. “I have some China silks to sell,” he said in his natural tone of voice, turning his head so that while his goods were in sight his face would be in shadow. “Silks! I don't want any silks! Who allowed you to pass in here? Alec!” He pushed back his chair and moved to the door. “Alec! Where the devil is Alec! He's always where I don't want him!” “I saw no one to ask, sir,” Harry replied mechanically. His father's appearance had sent a chill through him; he would hardly have known him had he met him on the street. Not only did he look ten years older, but the injury to his sight caused him to glance sideways at any one he addressed, completely destroying the old fearless look in his eyes. “You never waited to ask! You walk into my private office unannounced and--” here he turned the lamp to see the better. “You're a sailor, aren't you?” he added fiercely--a closer view of the intruder only heightening his wrath. “Yes, sir--I'm a sailor,” replied Harry simply, his voice dying in his throat as he summed up the changes that the years had wrought in the colonel's once handsome, determined face--thinner, more shrunken, his mustache and the short temple-whiskers almost white.