‘I will go to him,’ said Brion, and they walked on and entered the house. The Justice was in his private closet off the hall--a room selected for his use by Clerivault before his departure. It was a small oak-panelled chamber, sombre but comfortable. The one diamond-paned window, jewelled in its upper lights with heraldic devices, threw a pattern like trellised moonshine on the carpet of blue cloth--the only one in the house. An escritoire had been set there by Brion’s directions, and the smaller bookcase, into which he had gathered the best of the illuminated missals. They knocked, and being bid to enter, Brion saw his Uncle again. He was seated by a table, on which stood a jug of sack and a silver tankard from which he had drunk copiously. He was just come off the road, and was soiled and weary. Yet there was that in his expression somehow more significant of mental than of physical exhaustion. The dark moody features seemed bitten with a deeper consciousness of their own fall from grace and beauty; into the large congested eyes had grown a hunted listening look, pathetic in its implication of strength harried and demoralised. His hands were tremulous when the boy came in: it had needed but that little unexpected sound upon the door to unnerve and shake him. But he greeted his nephew kindly, and with a light come into his face which shone straight into Brion’s heart. He beckoned, with a smile, to the boy, and, when he came, stood him between his knees, and asked him many questions--as to his life since they had parted, and the way he had employed his time, and his opinion--a little wistfully this--as to the house and its surroundings and his feelings regarding them. ‘I shall be happy now you have come,’ was the brave answer. He seemed much affected. ‘What! You love me still?’ said he. ‘Yes, indeed, Sir.’ ‘That’s well and good. Methinks, child, I could not do without your love.’ ‘Will you live here always now, Uncle Quentin?’ ‘Ay, so they will leave me in peace.’ He said it wearily, his brow glooming a moment. But the shadow passed, and he smiled again. ‘You ask no question,’ he said; ‘and that’s discreet. Now, tell me: have you kept the trust I erst warned you? I have not forgotten, you see.’ ‘I have kept it on my honour.’ ‘Well said. I like your honour as I like your face. I have been in hiding, Brion. Are you curious to know why?’ ‘No, Sir.’ ‘Then, when you ask me, I shall tell you.’ ‘I shall not ask you.’ ‘Think, boy; to love me is to share my burden.’ ‘I will take it all, Uncle, if you will, not seeking to know its nature.’ The other did not answer for a little; but he heaved a great sigh, gazing enrapt into his young kinsman’s face. Presently he said:--