I looked up, and
there stood Harold!
Oh, how unlike it was from the way in which we had met three years
before as bewildered strangers! I do not think that sister could
ever have met brother with more entire feeling that home, and trust,
and staff, and stay were come back to her, than when I found Harold's
arm round me, his head bending down to me. I was off my own mind!
When our greeting was over, Harold turned and said, "Here he is."
I saw a fine-looking old man, with a certain majesty of air that one
could not define. He was pale, wrinkled, and had deep furrows of
suffering on cheek and brow, but his dark eyes, under a shaggy white
penthouse, were full of keen fire and even ardour. His bald forehead
was very fine, and his mouth--fully visible, for he was closely
shaven--had an ineffable, melancholy sweetness about it, so that the
wonderful power of leading all with whom he came in contact was no
longer a mystery to me; for, fierce patriot and desperate republican
as he might have been, nothing could destroy the inborn noble, and
instinctively I bent to him with respect as I took his hand in
welcome.
After the hasty inquiries, "Where's Dora?" "Where's Eustace?"
"Where's Dermot Tracy?" had been answered, and I had learnt that this
last had gone on to London, where his family were, Harold hurried out
to see about sending for the luggage, and Prometesky, turning to me,
almost took my breath away by saying, "Madam, I revere you.
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