“Well, we shall see,” the other said, cooling down.  “I hope I may be mistaken in him.  We shall see when he comes home.”

When he did come home, the old soldier could find but little fault with the young man.  He had a frank and open manner, such as is common to men of his profession.  He was full of life and anecdote.  His manner to the squire was admirable, affectionate, and quietly respectful, without any air of endeavouring especially to ingratiate himself with him.  Nor could the ex-sergeant find anything to complain of in the young man’s manner towards himself.  He took the first opportunity, when they were alone, to say how glad he had been, to hear that his grandfather had met with a friend and companion in his lonely life, and to express a hope that the bad opinion, which he had doubtless formed of him from his conduct when a boy, would not be allowed to operate against him now.

But, though there was nothing he could find fault with, the old soldier’s prejudices were in no way shaken, and, indeed, his antipathy was increased, rather than diminished, by the young officer’s conduct towards Aggie.  It might be, of course, that he was only striving to overcome the prejudiced feeling against him; but every time the old soldier saw him with his granddaughter, he felt angry.

In point of fact, Aggie was disposed to like Richard, even before his arrival.  Six years had eradicated every tinge of animosity for that shove on the sand.  His letters had been long, bright, and amusing, and with the mementos of travel which he picked up in the ports of India and China, and from time to time sent home to his uncle, there was always a little box with some pretty trinket “for my cousin.”  She found him now a delightful companion.  He treated her as if she had been seventeen, instead of eleven; was ready to ride or walk with her, or to tell her stories of the countries he had seen, as she might choose; and to humour all her whims and fancies.

“Confound him and his pleasant manners!” the ex-sergeant would mutter to himself, as he watched them together, and saw, as he believed, in the distance, the overthrow of the scheme he had at heart.  “He is turning the child’s head; and that foolish boy, James, is throwing away his chances.”

James, indeed, came home from school for the last time, two or three weeks after Richard Horton’s return.  He was now nearly eighteen, and, although a broad and powerful fellow, was still a boy at heart.  He did not show to advantage by the side of Richard Horton.  The first time he went up to the Hall, after his return, the latter had met him with outstretched hand.

“I am glad to meet you again,” he said.  “I behaved like a blackguard, last time we met, and you gave me the thrashing which I deserved.  I hope we shall get on better, in the future.”

Aggie and her two grandfathers were present, and James Walsham certainly did not show to advantage, by the side of the easy and self-possessed young officer.  He muttered something about its being all right, and then found nothing else to say, being uncomfortable, and ill at ease.  He made some excuse about being wanted at home, and took his leave; nor did he again go up to call.  Several times, the old soldier went down to Sidmouth to see him, and on one occasion remonstrated with him for not coming up to the Hall.