And after that everything was confusion for a few minutes, and I can scarcely remember what happened in the babel of voices all crying out and rejoicing at once.

“See that the horse is put up for the night and that the man has food and shelter,” I heard Uncle Luke say to Neil.

Then he, Uncle Luke, passed through the affectionate crowd that seemed as if it would eat him with joy.  I saw him go to his father and mother, put an arm about each and pass within the little room, and there after a moment I followed them.

They were all three standing on the hearthrug when I came in, and Uncle Luke had one arm about his mother and the other thrown across his father’s neck.

“So this is little Bawn,” he said, letting them go, and coming forward to meet me.  “So this is little Bawn.”

I should have known his blue eyes and smile anywhere, I thought, although his hair was as if dust had been sprinkled over it, and there were deep lines in the face I remembered as being very merry.  I had a passing wonder that in this moment he remembered my existence or recognized me, for Lord and Lady St. Leger were still dumb or inarticulate with joy, and could not have spoken of me.

“Yes, I am Bawn,” I said, lifting my face to kiss him.  “I am so glad you have come home, Uncle Luke.”

“I should have come long ago,” he said.  “Yet, thank God, I come in time.  I have messages for you, little Bawn, to be delivered later.”

So he, he of all people, was Anthony’s messenger!

He put his arm about me and we returned to the old couple by the fire.

“We were kept back by the storm,” he said.  “Oh, how I fretted and fumed lest I should arrive too late!  And Mary Champion, how is she?  Is she maid or wife or widow?”

“She never married, for your sake, Uncle Luke,” I said, speaking up boldly.  “You will see her to-morrow morning.”

Then I saw that he still wore his heavy cloak, and I made him take it off; and he put his mother in one chair and his father in another and sat down between them, and I came and sat on the rug at their feet.

“We thought you were dead,” his father said, looking at him with an air of beatitude.

“I never did,” said the mother.  “And Maureen did not.  Nor did Mary Champion.  Luke, Luke, why did you stay away so long?”

“Because I thought I was best dead, little mother.  Because I thought I should have to stand my trial for murder if I came back.  I have lived in the waste places of the world since I left you, or I must have known.  I say waste places, yet they are beautiful, fruitful places of the earth; only there are few white men there and those adventurers.  For beauty and kindliness it was the Garden of Eden; but there has never been a day when I was not sick for Aghadoe.”

“And how did you know at last?” his father asked.  His mother could only look at him with shining eyes.