CHAPTER XXVIII.
My brother's arrival--The interview--Night--A dying father--Christ.
At last my brother arrived; he looked pale and unwell; I met him at the door.

'You have been long absent,' said I.
'Yes,' said he, 'perhaps too long; but how is my father ?' 'Very poorly,' said I, 'he has had a fresh attack; but where have you been of late ?' 'Far and wide,' said my brother; 'but I can't tell you anything now, I must go to my father.

It was only by chance that I heard of his illness.' 'Stay a moment,' said I.

'Is the world such a fine place as you supposed it to be before you went away ?' 'Not quite,' said my brother, 'not quite; indeed I wish--but ask me no questions now, I must hasten to my father.' There was another question on my tongue, but I forbore; for the eyes of the young man were full of tears.

I pointed with my finger, and the young man hastened past me to the arms of his father.
I forbore to ask my brother whether he had been to old Rome.
What passed between my father and brother I do not know; the interview, no doubt, was tender enough, for they tenderly loved each other; but my brother's arrival did not produce the beneficial effect upon my father which I at first hoped it would; it did not even appear to have raised his spirits.