“Good heavens!” exclaimed Sir Charles, miserably. “It is my fault entirely. I assure you I had no idea. How could I? But I should have known, I should have guessed it.” He dismissed the sentries with a gesture. “That will do,” he said. “Return to your posts.” Mr. Collier laughed with relief. “Then it is not serious?” he asked. “He--he had no money, that was all,” exclaimed Sir Charles. “Serious? Certainly not. Upon my word, I’m sorry--” The young man had released himself from his sister’s embrace, and was coming towards them; and Sir Charles, eager to redeem himself, advanced hurriedly to greet him. But the young man did not see him; he was looking past him up the steps to where Miss Cameron stood in the shadow. Sir Charles hesitated and drew back. The young man stopped at the foot of the steps, and stood with his head raised, staring up at the white figure of the girl, who came slowly forward. It was forced upon Sir Charles that in spite of the fact that the young man before them had but just then been rescued from arrest, that in spite of his mean garments and ragged sandals, something about him--the glamour that surrounds the prodigal, or possibly the moonlight--gave him an air of great dignity and distinction. As Miss Cameron descended the stairs, Sir Charles recognized for the first time that the young man was remarkably handsome, and he resented it. It hurt him, as did also the prodigal’s youth and his assured bearing. He felt a sudden sinking fear, a weakening of all his vital forces, and he drew in his breath slowly and deeply. But no one noticed him; they were looking at the tall figure of the prodigal, standing with his hat at his hip and his head thrown back, holding the girl with his eyes. Collier touched Sir Charles on the arm, and nodded his head towards the library. “Come,” he whispered, “let us old people leave them together. They’ve a good deal to say.” Sir Charles obeyed in silence, and crossing the library to the great oak chair, seated himself and leaned wearily on the table before him. He picked up one of the goose quills and began separating it into little pieces. Mr. Collier was pacing up and down, biting excitedly on the end of his cigar. “Well, this has certainly been a great night,” he said. “And it is all due to you, Sir Charles--all due to you. Yes, they have you to thank for it.” “They?” said Sir Charles. He knew that it had to come. He wanted the man to strike quickly. “They? Yes--Florence Cameron and Henry,” Mr. Collier answered. “Henry went away because she wouldn’t marry him. She didn’t care for him then, but afterwards she cared. Now they’re reunited,--and so they’re happy; and my wife is more than happy, and I won’t have to bother any more; and it’s all right, and all through you.” “I am glad,” said Sir Charles. There was a long pause, which the men, each deep in his own thoughts, did not notice.