“I have heard of him, sir,” he answered when he recovered his speech, straining his ears to catch the next word.

“Heard of him, have you?  So has everybody else heard of him—­a worthless scoundrel who broke his mother’s heart; a man who disgraced his family—­a gentleman turned brigand—­a renegade who has gone back on his blood!  Tell him so if you see him!  Tell him I said so; I’m his father, and know!  No—­I don’t want your silks—­don’t want anything that has to do with sailormen.  I am busy—­please go away.  Don’t stop to bundle them up—­do that outside,” and he turned his back and readjusted the shade over his eyes.

Harry’s heart sank, and a cold faintness stole through his frame.  He was not angry nor indignant.  He was stunned.

Without a word in reply he gathered up the silks from the chair, tucked them under his arm, and replacing his cap stepped outside into the fast approaching twilight.  Whatever the morrow might bring forth, nothing more could be done to-day.  To have thrown himself at his father’s feet would only have resulted in his being driven from the grounds by the overseer, with the servants looking on—­a humiliation he could not stand.

As he stood rolling the fabrics into a smaller compass, a gray-haired negro in the livery of a house servant passed hurriedly and entered the door of the office.  Instantly his father’s voice rang out: 

“Where the devil have you been, Alec?  How many times must I tell you to look after me oftener.  Don’t you know I’m half blind and—­No—­I don’t want any more wood—­I want these vagabonds kept off my grounds.  Send Mr. Grant to me at once, and don’t you lose sight of that man until you have seen him to the main road.  He says he is a sailor—­and I’ve had enough of sailors, and so has everybody else about here.”

The negro bowed and backed out of the room.  No answer of any kind was best when the colonel was in one of his “tantrums.”

“I reckon I hab to ask ye, sah, to quit de place—­de colonel don’t ’low nobody to—­” he said politely.

Harry turned his face aside and started for the fence.  His first thought was to drop his bundle and throw his arms around Alec’s neck; then he realized that this would be worse than his declaring himself to his father—­he could then be accused of attempting deception by the trick of a disguise.  So he hurried on to where his horse was tied—­his back to Alec, the bundle shifted to his left shoulder that he might hide his face the better until he was out of sight of the office, the old man stumbling on, calling after him: 

“No, dat ain’t de way.  Yer gotter go down de main road; here, man—­don’t I tell yer dat ain’t de way.”

Harry had now gained the fence and had already begun to loosen the reins when Alec, out of breath and highly indignant over the refusal to carry out his warning, reached his side.

“You better come right back f’om whar ye started,” the old negro puffed; “ye can’t go dat way or dey’ll set de dogs on ye.”  Here his eyes rested on the reins and forelock.  “What! you got a horse an’ you—­”