Percival following upon him closely. He heard the old man's voice saying,

"I have no friend in America; but you may tell the person to come in; I
will see him."

The voice trembled a little; and the silversmith had raised himself from
his chair, and was looking eagerly towards the door as Norton Percival
entered, not caring to wait for any more formal invitation. The two men
faced each other silently in the dim light from one candle on the
mantelpiece, Jacob Nowell looking intently at the bearded face of his
visitor.

"You can go, Tulliver," he said sharply to the shopman. "I wish to be
alone with this gentleman."

Luke Tulliver departed with his usual reluctant air, closing the door as
slowly as it was possible for him to close it, and staring at the
stranger till the last moment that it was possible for him to stare.

When he was gone the old man took the candle from the mantelpiece, and
held it up before the bearded face of the traveller.

"Yes, yes, yes," he said slowly; "at last! It is you, Percival, my only
son. I thought you were dead long ago. I had a right to consider you
dead."

"If I had thought my existence could be a matter of interest to you, I
should hardly have so long refrained from all communication with you. But
your letters led me to suppose you utterly indifferent to my fate."