"
The day following was Sunday, and eagerly did Tom await the arrival
of Rosamund, whom her father had set out betimes to fetch. But he
had promised to keep the secret of Tom's return for a surprise to
meet her on her arrival; and so, when she turned the corner of the
street upon her father's arm, laughing and chattering to him in her
brightest fashion, there was Tom standing in the doorway, clad in
one of his finest suits (left behind in the care of Cale), smiling
bravely, hat in hand, and looking altogether so grand and finished
a gentleman that at the first moment Rosamund could scarce make
sure if it was he himself.
But when convinced of this, her pleasure was pretty to see. She
made him stand by the window where she could see him; she looked
him all over, clapping her hands, and declaring that he had grown
so grand and handsome that she was quite afraid of him. But her
dancing eyes and laughing lips belied her words, and soon she was
chattering away in the old free style; and Tom sat looking at her,
thinking how pretty she was, and what a pleasant thing it was to be
home again after such a period of peril and adventure.
Of course he had to tell his story over again, whilst Rosamund's
face turned red and pale by turns, and her breath came fitfully
between her lips.
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