They had reached the house by this time, and its picturesque beauty did not decrease upon a near approach. It was a charming house without and within, and the exquisite harmony and grace which everywhere prevailed, betokened the artist’s eye and the cultivated taste of the _connoisseur_. ‘Let us go straight in,’ said Maud, entering the hall unhesitatingly. ‘Mr. Meredith will be in this room. He is always pleased to see me. Come in, Phil. He wants to make your acquaintance, I know.’ Maud opened the door of a small room, hung with rare paintings, and full of beautiful objects of art, and led her brother in. An old man, with a magnificent head and flowing white hair, was reclining in an easy-chair under the open window, from whence the light streamed with picturesque intensity upon him. His dress was a black velvet gown lined with crimson, which attire gave to him a marked resemblance to the conventional picture of a mediæval wizard. ‘Welcome, my dear Maud,’ said the old man in low even tones, as the door opened. ‘I heard your step outside the door, and I heard your sweet voice too. So I know you do not come alone. Who is your companion to-day?’ ‘Guess!’ cried Maud, with her rippling laugh: ‘Guess, Mr. Meredith! It is somebody that I know you want to see.’ The old man’s face changed and quivered with emotion. He rose from his seat, and held out both his hands. ‘It is Philip Debenham’s boy come back at last—my oldest friend’s only son. Come here, my lad, and take an old man’s blessing. For your dead father’s sacred memory, I bid you welcome here.’ Tor felt unpleasantly like an impostor as he grasped the hands of the blind old man, but he betrayed no hesitation either in word or manner. ‘I am very glad to see you, sir. It is very pleasant to be so warmly welcomed by almost unknown friends and relations, after eighteen years of banishment.’ The old man’s face fell suddenly. ‘That is not a Debenham voice,’ he said, and he sat down with a sigh. Maud laughed, and gave Tor a merry glance from her blue eyes. Then she sat down at the old man’s feet, and stroked one of the long white hands. ‘Now, Uncle Michael, don’t be tiresome!’ she began in her winning way. When most wishful to please him, she always called him ‘Uncle Michael.’ ‘If you go off into a melancholy fit just because Phil’s voice is not like papa’s, he will be afraid to come and see you again. You know the Debenhams are never very brave;’ and she gave Tor another laughing look. Michael Meredith smiled, and sighed with gentle resignation. ‘Ah, child, you do not understand these things; you are too young to comprehend the tender, lingering memories of the past—the yearning for some living link of association with bygone days. You have been one such living link, my sweet Maud. I hoped in Philip to find another. Come here, boy. Kneel down before me here; let me pass my hand across your face. Perhaps I shall find traces there of your father, my friend, whom I so dearly loved.’