His mother folded him in her arms, with the tears running down her cheeks.  She had only heard once from him all these months; for the letter he had sent at Christmas time had never found its way through the snow drifts of the forest.  Tom kissed mother and sister with real feeling, and then turned aside to give minute instructions and warnings with regard to the mare, who was put into the care of the old servant who had most experience in the matter of horse flesh, and felt no uneasiness at the vagaries and tantrums of her ladyship.

Then Tom turned to enter the familiar hall, his hand upon his mother’s shoulder, Rachel clinging to his other arm.

“O Tom!” she cried, “have you come back to us for good?  Have you had enough of gay London town?”

There was already a traveller’s meal set out in the warm south parlour, and the servants were hurrying to and fro with eager zeal and excitement.  Tom was pushed into a seat by his sister, and helped with no unsparing hand; whilst the mother hung over him, eager not to lose a single word.

“Yes, truly, for the time being I have had enough of London town,” answered Tom; “although it is a monstrous fine city, and I should well like to see it again, as indeed I may.  But for the moment I am on my way to foreign lands, as my father wished.  I am like to have work to do there for my lord of Marlborough, whose coming to this country has set all the town in a commotion, as perchance you have heard.”

They had heard something of it even at Gablehurst; and Rachel eagerly asked Tom if he had seen the great Duke.

“Oh, many times,” answered Tom, with the complacency of one who feels himself a great man in his present surroundings.  “I witnessed many pageants in which he took part; and I was of the same company at the house of my Lord Craven, and was presented to him, and had speech with him!”

Mother and sister were impressed and surprised; but yet Tom was so great a personage in their estimation that perhaps they took this piece of news more quietly than more enlightened dames would have done.  They made him tell his story from end to end, sitting with his feet towards the hearth, the cheery glow of the fire warming his limbs and imparting a sense of well-being and homelike comfort.

“And who is this Lord Claud, who has shown you so much kindness?” asked the mother, when the outlines of the story at least had become known to them.

“That I cannot rightly tell you,” answered Tom; “there is some mystery about his birth and name.  He goes everywhere, and is received by the best and finest people of the town, short of the court circle.  And even my lord of Marlborough exchanged civilities with him, and let him present me as his friend.  But more than that I cannot tell you, nor can any man in town.  If it be a secret, it is mightily well kept.  All have heard of Lord Claud; but none know more of him than his name.”