You are a stranger to me!"
"I am no stranger, and I am no messenger!" answered the other. "You've
got your ticket? That's all right! Now you can come with me."
He walked into a waiting-room, the half-glass doors of which opened out
of the office. The room was empty, for it only wanted five minutes to
the starting of the train, and the passengers had hurried off to take
their seats.
James Wentworth took off his hat, and brushed his rumpled grey hair from
his forehead.
"Put on your spectacles, Sampson Wilmot," he said, "and look hard at me,
and then tell me if I am a stranger to you."
The old clerk obeyed, nervously, fearfully. His tremulous hands could
scarcely adjust his spectacles.
He looked at the reprobate's face for some moments and said nothing. But
his breath came quicker and his face grew very pale.
"Ay," said James Wentworth, "look your hardest, and deny me if you can.
It will be only wise to deny me; I'm no credit to any one--least of all
to a steady respectable old chap like you!"
"Joseph!--Joseph!" gasped the old clerk; "is it you? Is it really my
wretched brother? I thought you were dead, Joseph--I thought you were
dead and gone!"
"And wished it, I dare say!" the other answered, bitterly. "No,
Joseph,--no!" cried Sampson Wilmot; "Heaven knows I never wished you
ill.
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