Mr Cunningham took up the packet, and turned round as if to open and read it, when his attention was caught by three figures coming up the road towards the house. They evidently saw him on the terrace, and after a pause and a word or two came through the gate up the garden. "What is it? Who is there, father?" cried Edgar, expectant of any turn of events. "It is--your brother!" said Mr Cunningham, laying his hand on the wall, with pale lips, and his eyes fixed on the first figure approaching him. Alwyn stood still at the top of the steps and took off his hat. "I see you know me, sir," he said; "I did not mean to come here against your wish. But your keepers have made a mistake, which perhaps you will explain to them." "That will do, blockheads; don't you know a gentleman when you see one?" said Mr Cunningham, as the two men, greatly crestfallen, and muttering a "Beg pardon, I'm sure, sir," retreated in haste. "It is right, sir, that I should explain myself," said Alwyn, speaking with evident effort. "I had no intention of forcing myself on you. If you will have the goodness to read the letter I gave to my brother, I will go back to London and wait--" "No, no, no!" interposed Edgar, struggling up on to his elbow. "I'd stand by your side if I could stand anywhere. At least I'll claim the right to own you." Alwyn had not meant to make any advance to Edgar which might be construed as a defiance, but he now crossed over to the couch and took the offered hand gently in both his own. "My father will understand," he said, "that I should not have made any approach to you if I had known of the fatal mischief for which I am responsible. Dear Edgar, lie still; no one could have done more for me than you have." There was a pause. Mr Cunningham moved and sat down in a chair opposite his sons. Edgar lay back, but with eyes still fronting his father, while he still held Alwyn's hand. Alwyn himself hardly knew what next to do. There was, however, something about him so unlike the wild youth from whom the father had parted, so unlike what Mr Cunningham had imagined as his probable condition, that all previous ideas were upset. "Your reappearance," said Mr Cunningham at length, "is very sudden after so complete a silence. What is your reason for coming here?" Alwyn hesitated, his mouth quivered, and he pointed to the letter which still lay on Edgar's knee. Then he dropped his brother's hand and made a step or two forward. "Father," he said, "I--I beg your pardon. That first, nothing else. I have made a position for myself, as you will see. I came partly because I hope to set Whittaker's character right with his friends here and to leave no mystery about my own. But I have nothing to say for myself--as to the past. I was inexcusable all through."