“I would have given it had it been my all, it been fifty times as much, Harry.”

There was no need to say another word.  Harry and Charlotte understood each other, and Harry turned the conversation upon his cousin.

“This Indian fellow, this Sandal of the Brahminical caste, what is he like, Charley?”

“He does not admire me, Harry; so how can I admire him?”

“Then there must be something wrong with him in the fundamentals; a natural-born inability to admire what is lovely and good.”

“You mustn’t say such a thing as that, Harry.  I am sure that Sophia is engaged to him.”

“Does father like him?”

“Not much; but Julius is a Sandal, after all, and”—­

“After me, the next heir.  Exactly.  It shall not be my fault, Charley, if he does not stand a little farther off soon.  I can get married too.”

“O Harry, if you only would!  It is your duty; and there is little Emily Beverley.  She is so beautiful and good, and she adores you, Harry.”

“Dear little Emmy.  I used to love Emmy a long time ago.”

“It would make father so happy, and mother and me too.  And the Beverleys are related to mother,—­and isn’t mother sweet.  Father was saying”—­

At that moment the squire entered the room.  His face was a little severe; but the moment his eyes fell upon Charlotte and Harry, every line of sternness was gone like a flash.  Harry’s arm was round his sister’s waist, her head against his shoulder; but in a moment he gently released himself, and went to his father.  And in his nineteenth-century way he said what the erring son of old said, “Father, I have not done right lately.  I am very sorry.”

“Say no more, Harry, my lad.  There shall be no back reckoning between you and me.  You have been mixed up with a sight of follies, but you can over-get all that.  You take after me in looks.  Up-sitting and down-sitting, you are my son.  You come of a good kind; you have a kind heart and plenty of dint;[Dint, energy.] now, then, make a fresh start, Harry.  Oh, my dear, dear son!” The father’s eyes were full of tears, his face shone with love, and he held the young man’s hand in a clasp which forgave every thing in the past, and promised everything for the future.

Then Julius and Sophia came in, and there was barely time to introduce the young men before dinner was served.  They disliked each other on sight; indeed, the dislike was anterior to sight, and may be said to have commenced when Harry first heard how thoroughly at home Julius had made himself at Seat-Sandal, and when Julius first saw what a desirable estate and fine old “seat” Harry’s existence deprived him of.  And in half an hour this general aversion began to particularize itself.  The slim, suave youth, with his black eyes and soft speech, and small hands and feet, seemed to Harry Sandal in every respect an interloper.  The Saxon in this Sandal was lost in the Oriental.  The two races were, indeed, distinctly evident in the two men in many ways, but noticeably in their eyes:  Harry’s being large, blue, and wide open; those of Julius, very black; and in their long, narrow setting and dreamy look, expressing centuries of tranquil contemplation.