him. He conjured up the lad's face, and a cry of discovery
escaped him. How blind he had been not to have seen before the
likeness of Alice - his poor, butchered girl-wife of eighteen
years ago. How dull never before to have realized that that
likeness it was had drawn him to the boy.

He was calm by now, and in his calm he sought to analyse his
thoughts, and he was shocked to find that they were not joyous.
He yearned - as he had yearned that night in Worcester - for
the lad's affection, and yet, for all his yearning, he realized
that with the conviction that Kenneth was his offspring came a
dull sense of disappointment. He was not such a son as the
rakehelly knight would have had him. Swiftly he put the
thought from him. The craven hands that had reared the lad had
warped his nature; he would guide it henceforth; he would
straighten it out into a nobler shape.

Then he smiled bitterly to himself. What manner of man was he
to train a youth to loftiness and honour? - he, a debauched
ruler with a nickname for which, had he any sense of shame, he
would have blushed! Again he remembered the lad's disposition
towards himself; but these, he thought, he hoped, he knew that
he would now be able to overcome.

He closed the window, and turned to face his companion. He was
himself again, and calm, for all that his face was haggard
beyond its wont.

"Hogan, where is the boy?"