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great room where Cicely was sitting quite dismally in the
chimney-seat alone.

“There, Nick,” said he; “tell her thyself that thou hast
come back. She thought she had lost thee for good and
all, and hath sung, ‘Hey ho, my heart is full of woe!’ the
whole twilight, and would not be comforted. Come, Cicely,
doff thy doleful willow—the proverb lies. ‘Out of sight,
out of mind’—fudge! the boy ’s come back again! A
plague take proverbs, anyway!”

But when the children were both long since abed, and
all the house was still save for the scamper of rats in the
wall, the heavy door of Nick’s room opened stealthily, with
a little grating upon the uneven sill, and Master Carew
stood there, peeping in, his hand upon the bolt outside.

He held a rush-light in the other. Its glimmer fell
across the bed upon Nick’s tousled hair; and when the
master-player saw the boy’s head upon the pillow he
started eagerly, with brightening eyes. “My soul!” he
whispered to himself, a little quaver in his tone, “I would
have sworn my own desire lied to me, and that he had
not come atall! It cannot be—yet, verily, I am not blind.
Ma foi! it passeth understanding—a freed skylark come
back to its cage! I thought we had lost him forever.”

Nick stirred in his sleep. Carew set the light on the
floor. “Thou fool!” said he, and he fumbled at his pouch ;
“thou dear-belovéd little fool! To catch the skirts of
glory in thine hand, and tread the heels of happy chance,
and yet come back again to ill-starred twilight—and to
me! Ai, lad, I would thou wert my son—mine own, own