“Miss Roquevillard?” he asked, his voice sounding indistinctly in his own ears. He was left waiting in the vestibule, and felt crushed, tempted to flee away, no matter where. What strange force had taken him by the shoulders and thrust him forward even to his father’s door? In a moment Margaret appeared and threw herself into his arms. “You, Maurice! Is it really you?” He stiffened rigidly to keep back his tears, as she added softly: “I have been expecting you since yesterday.” She led him to the dining-room, and he gave himself over to her care, cast down and helpless. The table had not yet been cleared away. “Is father well?” he asked at last, a little fearfully. “He shut himself up in his study after dinner,” answered Margaret, “to work, while I was undressing little Julian. I’ll go and tell him.” “No, Margaret, please don’t.” “Why?” “I don’t know.” “Then--has he changed much?” he murmured, after a heavy silence. “Yes.” He was hungry, but he dared not eat the things which she went and got for him herself in the kitchen. She understood, and when she saw he did not notice, she hurried away to her father in his study. “Father, he’s here!” she cried. Mr. Roquevillard, bent over a brief, raised his head. abruptly, with an involuntary movement; but in a moment he had got possession of himself again. “He’s been very late about coming back.” “Won’t you see him, father?” she begged. “He’s so unhappy.” Mr. Roquevillard reflected a moment. “I’ll go to see him to-morrow, in the gaol,” he answered, with an effort, “to arrange about his defence. Not this evening.” And as Margaret looked disappointed, he drew her to his breast. “You attend to him,” he said. “If he’s tired, see that he gets some rest. To-morrow’s time enough for him to go and give himself up.” “Father, forgive him. For mamma----” “Some day, Margaret, I hope that he’ll deserve my forgiveness. Just now, so soon, I can’t forget the wrong he did to us in going away. I want him to understand this and realise it fully. He must, for the sake of our past and for his own future. But don’t cry, Margaret. I have not ceased to love him. I’m glad he’s come back.” Later, quite a little while later, in the silence of the night, Mr. Roquevillard left his room, and crept with stealthy steps to Maurice’s door. His hand shading the flame of his candle, he listened for a moment to the light and regular breathing that he could scarcely hear. A thin smile lit up his forceful features that had been so ravaged by his sorrow. “He’s here. That’s the essential thing. I’ll save him, and with him all our race----” PART III I THE COMPANION IN ARMS