“I have some China silks to sell,” he said in his natural tone of voice, turning his head so that while his goods were in sight his face would be in shadow.

“Silks!  I don’t want any silks!  Who allowed you to pass in here?  Alec!” He pushed back his chair and moved to the door.  “Alec!  Where the devil is Alec!  He’s always where I don’t want him!”

“I saw no one to ask, sir,” Harry replied mechanically.  His father’s appearance had sent a chill through him; he would hardly have known him had he met him on the street.  Not only did he look ten years older, but the injury to his sight caused him to glance sideways at any one he addressed, completely destroying the old fearless look in his eyes.

“You never waited to ask!  You walk into my private office unannounced and—­” here he turned the lamp to see the better.  “You’re a sailor, aren’t you?” he added fiercely—­a closer view of the intruder only heightening his wrath.

“Yes, sir—­I’m a sailor,” replied Harry simply, his voice dying in his throat as he summed up the changes that the years had wrought in the colonel’s once handsome, determined face—­thinner, more shrunken, his mustache and the short temple-whiskers almost white.

For an instant his father crumpled a wisp of paper he was holding between his fingers and thumb; and then demanded sharply, but with a tone of curiosity, as if willing the intruder should tarry a moment while he gathered the information: 

“How long have you been a sailor?”

“I am just in from my last voyage.”  He still kept in the shadow although he saw his father had so far failed to recognize him.  The silks had been laid on a chair beside him.

“That’s not what I asked you.  How long have you been a sailor?” He was scanning his face now as best he could, shifting the green shade that he might see the better.

“I went to sea three years ago.”

“Three years, eh?  Where did you go?”

The tone of curiosity had increased.  Perhaps the next question would lead up to some basis on which he could either declare himself or lay the foundation of a declaration to be made the next day—­after he had seen his mother and Alec.

“To South America.  Para was my first port,” he answered simply, wondering why he wanted to know.

“That’s not far from Rio?” He was still looking sideways at him, but there was no wavering in his gaze.

“No, not far—­Rio was our next stopping place.  We had a hard voyage and put in to—­”

“Do you know a young man by the name of Rutter—­slim man with dark hair and eyes?” interrupted his father in an angry tone.

Harry started forward, his heart in his mouth, his hands upraised, his fingers opening.  It was all he could do to restrain himself.  “Don’t you know me, father?” was trembling on his lips.  Then something in the sound of the colonel’s voice choked his utterance.  Not now, he thought, mastering his emotion—­a moment more and he would tell him.