Just then the hound sprang up listening, and bounded towards the door and out into the hall. Sunbeam, understanding its joyous bark, ran after it. Next I heard the loving welcome, the nearest link that earth and heaven have. “Father!” Such a thrill of pure love ran through the word that in it one learnt the whole inner secret of heaven. The least vibration of that tender, passionate voice could have moved anything but hard, sodden earth, too dull to understand its influence. Soon afterwards they entered by the open door, he carrying her on his shoulder, and no queen ever seated on a golden throne looked half so happy or so proud as she. There then I saw, or thought I saw, for the first time my rescuer, clad in strong, linked armour, such as Plucritus wore, that was all ablaze with light as his had been; not the light that dazzled, but that which made more clear. Now as I still looked I recognised him with a surprise as genuine as it was delightful. “Virginius!” “Genius!” He came forward extending his hand, with equally genuine pleasure, though less surprise than I had shown. “You did not expect to see me?” “You are so altered I did not know you.” “In some ways I may say the same of you. Yet one can always trace a likeness in one’s friends—however much they alter outwardly.” “You honour me with the name of friend,” I said, for I remembered our parting in the past had been short and cold. “Yes,” he confirmed, “I think I am almost willing to take your old advice and form the alliance, the one of which you spoke.” I laughed. “I am afraid at present I am little use, being no better than an invalid, and in my poverty reduced to borrowed garments, as you see.” He glanced at me, then shook his head. “We neither lend nor borrow here,” he said. “What you have is yours by right—a right stronger than ever money gave.” Sunbeam then joined in the conversation for the first time. “Mother made it from the pattern you sent her. I helped her to blend the coloured silken threads, and those of gold and silver.” Virginius put Sunbeam down. “You will excuse me a little while. This is scarcely the attire for a peaceful meal, but I shall soon be back again.” Once more we were left again together, but Sunbeam’s face by this time matched her name. She went to the table and began pulling the chairs to their right places. She touched almost every teaspoon and knife with a kind of loving, restless touch, as if she would fain have put some of her own feeling into them; lastly, she got up on a chair and cast a critical eye on the self-made bun. “Would you leave it?” she inquired of me. “Why not? Certainly I should.” “But it’s not quite as pretty as the things mother makes.” “Well, you could hardly expect that.” “No. Of course not.” Then, once having settled that question, she came back to me. “Have you known father long?” she asked. “Yes. A very long time in some ways, a very short one in others.” “You never met anyone quite the same, did you?”