Lights were gleaming in the windows and round the balcony, and the house was pleasant with the buzz of conversation, and soft laughter, and sweet music. The party seemed altogether a very delightful one; for a smile was on every lip, and distilled honey dropped from every tongue, while the presiding genius of the establishment was benign and affable, and moved among his guests like Jove dispensing agreeability.
The brothers Nuttall had met in the ball-room. The only words they exchanged were "Matthew!" "Nicholas!" and then, after a long pressure of the hand, they adjourned to the balcony, where their conversation would be more private than in the house.
They felt somewhat awkward; the days they had passed together might have belonged to another life, so long gone by did that time seem. The bridge between their boyhood and their old age had crumbled down, and the fragments had been almost quite washed by the stream of Time. Still, some memory of the old affection was stirred into life by the meeting, and they both felt softened and saddened as their hands lay in each other's clasp.
They paced the balcony in silence at first. Then the elder, Matthew, asked some stray questions as to the old places he used to frequent, and smiled and pondered wonderingly as he heard of the changes that had taken place.
"And the yew, where the parrot used to swing, gone!" he said. "And the wood where we went nutting?"
"Almost a city, Mat. A tree here and there, that's all. I was thinking only to-night of that wood, and of one happy day we spent there-you know with whom?"
"I know-I know. Good God! I have not thought of it or them for twenty years. And now they come to me again. Do they live?"
"Drowned!"
"Poor girls! There, Nick, let us talk of something else. It is no wonder things have changed. We have changed more than they."
"Yes, we are old men now," responded his brother. "This is a strange meeting, Mat, and in a new world, too."
"What did you come out to the colonies for?" asked the elder brother.
"For the same reason, I suppose, that thousands of other people come out-to better myself. I don't know that I had any particular other reason, and I don't know that I exactly knew how I was going to better myself. But I thought it would come right somehow.
"Then there were the goldfields, eh, Nicholas?"
"Yes; then there were the goldfields. They did excite me certainly. I heard of people picking up nuggets-of course you laugh-and I thought it possible that such a thing might happen. I know now how foolish even the stray thought of such a thing was for me, an old man. But still the gold seemed to say to me, Come, and I came."
"You are not rich?"
"No," was the reply.
"Any fixed plans of what you are going to do?"
"No-a dozen things have occurred to me, but, to tell you the truth, I am puzzled. Everything here appears to be so-so go-ahead," he said, after hesitating for a term, "that I am bewildered somewhat. Then, there is Mrs. Nuttall!"
"Mrs. Nuttall!"
"Yes," replied Nicholas, smiling; "my wife. I will introduce you presently. She will be agreeably surprised at your appearance," and he chuckled to himself as he thought of his wife's notions of squatting. "Then there is the girl-"
"What girl?"
"My daughter."
"Daughter!" cried Matthew, almost convulsively. But he controlled himself the moment after, and said, "A spasm, Nicholas, nothing more. What is her age?"
"Sixteen," said Nicholas. "She is here to-night. I am very proud of her, and hope you will like her."
"Marian! That was our mother's name."
Then there was silence, and, as they stood on the balcony looking out upon the ocean, the snow-fringed waves might have been bringing back to them the time that seemed to belong to another life.
"Stay here a moment, Mat," said Nicholas; "I will bring Marian to you."
And going into the house, he returned with a beautiful girl, whose face was rosy with youth and health, and whose eyes beamed with pleasure. Her graceful person and her soft white dress made her a pretty figure in the scene.
"Marian, my dear, your uncle."
He turned and took her hand, and made a movement as if about to kiss her. But he restrained himself with a sudden impulse.
"This is her first ball, Mat," said Nicholas, with an affectionate look at his daughter. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Oh, so much, papa!"
As she spoke, her uncle dropped her hand, and faced the sea. She was moving away towards her partner, who was waiting for her, when her uncle wheeled round, and said, as if the words were forced out of him-
"Kiss me, child."
She raised her face to his, and he bent down and kissed her, then pushed her lightly towards her partner.
"She is a dear good girl, Mat," said Nicholas; "and the greatest blessing I have; that is," he added, not at all enthusiastically, "next to Mrs. Nuttall, of course. By the bye, Mat-how careless of me, to be sure, perhaps you have a family of your own. Are you married?"
"Nicholas," said his brother, not answering the question, "do you remember my character as a boy?"
"Quite well, Mat. Eager, pushing, brave, and determined."
"Very determined, Nicholas."
"Very determined. I often wish I had your determination of character. Old Mr. Gray, our schoolmaster-you remember him, Mat? – used to say your determination was so determined, that it was nothing less than obstinacy. I heard him say of you one day, 'When Mat Nuttall makes up his mind to do a thing, he'll do it, whether it be good or bad, and whatever may be the result.' He said it was not a good trait-but he was mistaken, Mat. There is nothing so manly as determination of character. I wish I possessed it."
"Don't wish it, Nicholas. It often proves a curse."
"It has not proved so to you, Mat, for it has brought you riches and prosperity."
"I am rich and prosperous, as the world goes; but let that pass. Whether it be good or bad, I am not a whit less determined now than I was when a boy. I cannot help it. It is my nature. Old Mr. Gray was right. I am not to be turned from a determined purpose, whether I think I am right or wrong. Now, I have made up my mind to do what is in my power, so far as prudence goes, to advance your fortunes. But when I say to you, you must not do such and such a thing, I expect you not to do it. You are attending to me?"
"Yes."
"I am glad to have seen you-I am glad to have seen your-your Marian. But there is one subject which must never be mentioned between us, and that is the question of my family. Say that I have none. Tell Mrs. Nuttall this, and spare me any questions from her. Tell her and your" – (and here the same indecision expressed itself when he spoke of his brother's daughter) – "your Marian, that I am wifeless and childless. I must not be questioned upon the point. I have made up my mind not to be. I will not allow it to be referred to, or hinted at."
He spoke with distinctness, and yet with a strange hurriedness, as if he wished to be done quickly with the subject.
"You see those two figures yonder," he said, pointing to where the shadows of two persons could be seen upon the seashore.
"Yes, Mat, I can see them, although my eyes are not so good as they were."
"Suppose