John sat very still with bent head; he shut his eyes and turned them on his heart, but it was not long before his thoughtful face was brightened by a smile as he whispered to himself, “I must hear what Harry has to say before I judge him.  Jonathan has strong prejudices, and Harry must have what he considers ‘reasonable cause’ for what he wishes.”

He waited anxiously all morning, going frequently to his brother’s office, but it was mid-afternoon when he heard Harry’s quick light step on the corridor.  His heart beat to the sound, he quickly opened his door, and as he did so, Harry cried,

“John!  I am so glad you are here!”

Then John drew the bright handsome lad to his side, and they entered his office together, and as soon as they were alone, John bent to his brother, drew him closer, and kissed him.

“I have been restless and longing to see you, Harry.  Where have you been, dear lad?”

It was noticeable that John’s tone and attitude was that of a father, more than a brother, for John was ten years older than Harry and through all his boyhood, his youth, and even his manhood he had fought for and watched over and loved him with a fatherly, as well as a brotherly, love.  After their father’s death, John, as eldest son, took the place and assumed the authority of their father and was by right of birth head of the household and master of the mill.

Hitherto John’s authority had been so kind and so thoughtful that Harry had never dreamed of opposing it, yet the brothers were both conscious this afternoon that the old attitude towards each other had suffered a change.  Harry showed it first in his dress, which was extravagant and very unlike the respectable tweed or broadcloth common to the manufacturers of the locality.  Harry’s garb was that of a finished horseman.  It was mostly of leather of various colors and grades, from the highly dressed Spanish leather of his long, black boots to the soft, white, leather gauntlets, which nearly covered his arms.  He had a leather jockey cap on his head, and a leather whip in his hand, and he gave John a long, loving look, which seemed to ask for his admiration and deprecate, if not dispute, his expected dislike.

For John’s looks traveled down the handsome figure, whose hand he still clasped, with evident dismay and dissatisfaction, and Harry retaliated by striking his booted leg with his riding-whip.  For an instant they stood thus looking at each other, both of them quite aware of the remarkable contrast they made.  Harry’s tall, slight form, black hair, and large brown eyes were a vivid antithesis to John’s blond blue-eyed strength and comeliness.  To her youngest son, Mrs. Hatton, who was a daughter of the Norman house of D’Artoe, had transmitted her quick temperament, her dark beauty, and her elastic grace of movement.