It all impressed him with a sense of the continuity of English traditions and mode of life, as applied to such families as the Gladwynes. Cradled in a degree of luxury which nevertheless differed from modern profusion and ostentation, steeped in a slightly austere refinement, he could understand their shrinking from sudden chance and clinging to the customs of the past. They were all, so far as he had seen, characterized by the possession of high qualities, with the exception of Clarence, whom he regarded as a reversion to a baser type; but he thought that they would suffer if uprooted and transplanted in a less sheltered and less cultivated soil. Inherited instincts were difficult to subdue; he was conscious of their influence. He came from a new land where he had often toiled for a dollar or two daily, but a love and veneration for the ancient English homes in which his people had lived was growing strong in him. Mrs. Gladwyne did not appear, but he had a good deal to think of and was content to wait. He had grown fond of the stately lady and it was, indeed, largely for her sake that he had decided not to reveal for a while what he knew about the tragedy in British Columbia. He could not absolutely prove his version of the affair, and it would bring distress upon the mother of the offender; he had already waited two years and, though he felt that his dead comrade had a strong claim on him, he could wait a little longer. Fate might place conclusive evidence in his hands or remove some of his difficulties. Besides, he must go back as soon as possible to the Canadian North, and in one respect he was very loath to do this. At last he heard a footstep and his hostess came in. Her dress was not of the latest fashion, but it somehow struck him as out of place; she ought to have been attired in the mode of a century ago, with powder in her hair. Nevertheless, fragile as she was, with her fine carriage and her gracious smile, she made an attractive picture in the ancient room. "I've come on an unpleasant errand--to say good-by--and to thank you for many favors shown to a stranger," he said. "I think you were never that from the beginning," she told him. "By and by we learned the reason--you really belong to us." He made a gesture of humorous expostulation. "I like to believe that I belong here, but not because of the explanation you give. It doesn't seem to be much to my credit that my forefathers lived in this part of the country; I'd rather be taken on my actual merits, if that isn't, too egotistical." "They did live here," she rejoined. "You can't get over that--it has its influence." It was the point of view he had expected her to take. "We are very sorry you are going," she continued; "somehow we hardly anticipated it. Have you ever thought of coming back for good?" She was unconsciously giving him the lead he desired, but he would not seize it precipitately; he was half afraid.