Alwyn hesitated, but he had had nothing since morning, and for Edgar's sake he must accept the situation in full. It was a long strange night. Edgar was restless and feverish, only soothed by Alwyn's voice and touch; but towards morning he fell asleep quietly, and Alwyn, as the sweet summer morning dawned, looked round about him, and recognised that the room in which he sat had been the old "study"--full of how many memories! All the furniture was changed to suit Edgar's requirements, but the lines of the window, the panels on the wall, had a strange familiarity. When Edgar, half waking, looked at him, and murmured something about a dream, Alwyn felt that either this night, or all the past eight years, were as a dream to him. He heard the sounds of the rousing household, familiar as no other sounds in the world could be, and presently Robertson, who had gone to lie down in the outer room, where he usually slept, came back and said: "Mr Cunningham has sent word, sir, to say that breakfast will be served at nine in the dining-room. Will you let this man show you a room? I think my young master will be quite easy now." "I don't like to leave him while he is asleep, he might wake and miss me.--What, Edgar, awake? I am going to get some breakfast; I shall be back soon." He spoke in as matter-of-course a voice as possible, and Edgar only smiled a little and assented. Alwyn went out into the new old house. The servants, who came to him also with a curious new old deference, unknown across the water, were strange to him; but he almost laughed to see how, evidently, they accepted him, and noticed that the man who had been attending on him did not offer, when he came out, to show him the way to the dining-room; he watched him as he turned naturally towards it. The room was empty. "Mr Cunningham begged you to take some breakfast, sir, and to come to him afterwards in his library." Alwyn sat down and silently accepted the breakfast. He recognised the gold-edged, deep-coloured china, the plate, even the special variety of hot cakes which was offered to him. He was too much absorbed to be embarrassed, and was just deciding that it would be better to get the interview with his father over before he saw Edgar again, when a quick step sounded in the hall, and Geraldine stood before him, her tall figure upright as a dart, and her dark eyes recalling Edgar's youth so vividly, that she seemed more familiar to Alwyn than poor Edgar's own altered countenance. He rose, colouring, and hardly knowing what to do; but Geraldine walked straight up to him. "Are you my brother Alwyn?" she said in her clear outspoken voice. "Yes--you are Geraldine?" said Alwyn. "Why didn't you tell me so in the wood? I am very glad you are come home. I'll be friends with you anyhow." Her bold, defiant voice sounded to Alwyn like an echo of his own old self, and it struck him how ready both his father's children were to side against him.