"Oh, the devil!" said Sir Richard, and ringing the bell ordered
his horse to be brought to the door, and thereafter stood with
his back to the empty fireplace, his fists thrust down into his
pockets, frowning heavily and with a fixed intentness at the
nearest armchair.

Sir Richard Anstruther is tall and broad, ruddy of face, with a
prominent nose and great square chin whose grimness is offset by
a mouth singularly sweet and tender, and the kindly light of blue
eyes; he is in very truth a gentleman. Indeed, as he stood there
in his plain blue coat with its high roll collar and shining
silver buttons, his spotless moleskins and heavy, square-toed
riding boots, he was as fair a type as might be of the English
country gentleman. It is such men as he, who, fearless upon the
littered quarterdecks of reeling battleships, undismayed amid the
smoke and death of stricken fields, their duty well and nobly
done; have turned their feet homewards to pass their latter days
amid their turnips and cabbages, beating their swords into
pruning-hooks, and glad enough to do it.

"Peter," said he suddenly.

"Sir?" said I.

"You never saw your father to remember, did you?"

"No, Sir Richard."

"Nor your mother?"