They stood together on the platform, hand locked in hand: but that French customs do not prevail with us, Roland might have hugged Arthur's life out. The tears were in his eyes with the genuineness of his emotion. Roland's love for his early friend, who had once suffered so much for his sake, was no simulated one. The spectators spared a minute to turn and gaze on them--the two notable young men. Arthur was nearly as tall as Roland, very noble and distinguished. His face had not the singular beauty--as beauty--of Hamish's, but it was good, calm, handsome: one of those that thoughtful men like to look upon. His grey eyes were dark and deep, his hair auburn. "Arthur, old friend, I could die of joy. If you only knew how often I have dreamt of this!" Arthur laughed, pressed his hand warmly, and more warmly, ere he released it. "I must see after my luggage at once, Roland. I think I have lost it." "Lost your luggage?" "Yes; in so far as that it has not come with me. This," showing a rather high basket, whose top was a mound of tissue-paper, that he brought out of the carriage with his umbrella and a small parcel, "is something Lady Augusta asked me to convey to Gerald." "What is it?" "Grapes, I fancy. She charged me not to let it be crushed. I sent my portmanteau on to the station by Galloway's man, and when I arrived there myself could not see him anywhere. When we reached Birmingham it was not to be found, and I telegraphed to Helstonleigh. The guard said if it came to Birmingham in time he would put it in the van. I only got to the station as the train was starting, and had no time to look." "But what took you round by Birmingham?" "Business for Galloway. I had three or four hours' work to do for him there." "Bother Galloway! How are the two mothers?" continued Roland, as they walked arm-in-arm down the platform. "How's everybody?" "Yours is very well; mine is not. She has never seemed quite the thing since my father's death, Roland. Everybody else is well; and I have no end of messages for you." They stood round the luggage-van until it was emptied. Nothing had been turned out belonging to Arthur Channing. It was as he feared--the portmanteau was not there. "They will be sure to send it on from Birmingham by the next train," he remarked. "I shall get it in the morning." "Where was the good of your coming by this duffing train?" cried Roland. "It's as slow as an old cart-horse. I should have taken the express." "I could not get away before this one, Roland. Galloway made a point of my doing all there was to do." "The cantankerous, exacting old beauty! Are his curls flourishing?" Arthur smiled. "Channing still, but growing a little thin." "And you are getting on well, Arthur? "Very. My salary is handsome; and I believe the business, or part of it, will be mine some day. We had better take a cab, Roland. I'll get rid of Gerald's parcel first. This small one is for Hamish. Stay a moment, though."