So Newman had taken charge of the Reigate estate, and had continued
to manage it ever since, although George had written home in great
displeasure at his offer being refused.

Inside the Manor the bustle of preparations was going on; the spare
room, which had not been used for many years, was being turned
out, and a great fire lighted to air it. John Thorndyke had sent
a letter by the returning messenger to a friend in town, begging
him to go at once to Leadenhall Street and send down a supply
of Indian condiments for his brother's use, and had then betaken
himself to the garden to think the matter over. The next day a
post chaise arrived, bringing the invalid and his colored servant,
whose complexion and Indian garb struck the maids with an awe not
unmingled with alarm. John Thorndyke could hardly believe that the
bent and emaciated figure was that of his brother, but he remembered
the voice when the latter said, holding out his hand to him:

"Well, brother John, here I am, what is left of me. Gracious, man,
who would have thought that you were going to grow up such a fine
tall fellow? You are more fitted to be a soldier than I am. No,
don't try to help me out; Ramoo will do that--he is accustomed
to my ways, and I would as soon trust myself to a rogue elephant
as to you."

"I am sorry to see you looking so bad, brother George."

"What must be must. I have had my fling; and after thirty years
of marching and fighting, I have no right to grumble if I am laid
upon my back at last."