They had not long to wait; the next evening saw Archelaus at Cloom.  An oddly-altered Archelaus, so much was soon plain.  Even in appearance he seemed changed; something of his golden beauty had tarnished at last, and a faint grizzle showed here and there in his curly hair, while the ruddy face had become weather-beaten.  He talked a good deal—­about his adventures in California, his bad luck with the gold, and the beauty of the Californian women, especially those with a Spanish strain.  Of these last he spoke so freely, notably of some camp-followers, that Ishmael reminded him sharply of Phoebe’s presence.  Archelaus glanced from one to the other, from Ishmael’s irritated eyes to Phoebe’s averted cheek, with a slight smile, before answering.

“Ah!  I forgot that Phoebe’s not like that kind o’ women a man gets used to out there,” he said slowly.  “Besides, of course, she’m a lady now....”

The apology was worse than the offence; but Ishmael swallowed his anger for Phoebe’s sake, though he was vexed with her too for staying there to hang upon Archelaus’s doubtful talk.  Soon after, when Phoebe had brewed hot milk-punch and it had been drunk by the two men, Archelaus rose to go.  He went out to see if his trap were ready, and Ishmael went also.  The boy had gone home for the night, and Ishmael lit a lantern and went into the stable to fetch the horse.  He supposed Archelaus was with him, but found he had not followed so far; neither was he by the cart.  Ishmael put the horse in and brought it through into the courtyard, and the same moment saw Archelaus appearing from the kitchen door.

“Just haven a bit of chat wi’ Katie,” said Archelaus.  “She’m a rare one for gossip, she is.”  Then, as he pretended to busy himself with something at the horse’s head, he spoke again.

“Ishmael,” he began, “I knaw how it is wi’ you.  You think on when my fancy was took by your lil’ missus, and you don’t knaw how I’m thinken about things.  Well, I’m a rough chap, but I’m honest, b’lieve, and I can tell ’ee there’s no wound in my heart, and the soreness there was against ’ee has gone in the sun out in those lands....  Will ’ee shake hands and let I be a friend to you and your missus as a brother should?” He held out his hand as he spoke, and Ishmael found himself staring at it in the uncertain light of the lamps.  The next moment a flood of self-reproach at his own hesitation swept over him; he put out his hand and took his brother’s.  Archelaus gave such a vigorous wringing that Ishmael could not keep back a little exclamation, and his fingers were numb when they were released.

“Bit too strong, am I?” asked Archelaus with a friendly laugh.  “My muscles have got so tough I don’t rightly knaw how hard I grip.”  He swung himself up into the cart, and from that elevation looked down at Ishmael with a nod of farewell.

Ishmael went into the house, where he found Phoebe still sitting in the parlour, her hands folded on her lap, staring in front of her.  She gave a start when he spoke to her, and when he told her of his pact with Archelaus chilled him by her scant enthusiasm.  They went to bed, and as they lay side by side in the darkness there was a constraint between them there had not been even when they had quarrelled or his occasional fits of irritation had made her rail at him.