False Evidence by E. Phillips Oppenheim — Read

I had kept my vow, for though I was again within the park of Devereux, and in sight of the grand old mansion, my father was by my side. A splendid constitution had saved him from the very jaws of death, and he had recovered to find his country ringing with his name, and himself a hero. Our journey had been like a triumphal progress. Distinguished men, amongst whom old General Luxton, had met us at London to welcome my father back to his country, and all the way down we had been besieged by newspaper reporters, and little knots of people were gathered on the platform at every station, to gaze at us and shout a welcome; and at the little wayside station such crowds of the country folk were gathered together that progress along the narrow winding lane was almost an impossibility. And now we were at the last sweep of the drive, surrounded by lines of shouting tenants and servants, who stood uncovered as we approached, and made the air vibrate with lusty Yorkshire cheers.

It was one of those days which a man may live to be a hundred years old, and never forget; and yet it would dwell in his mind less by its actual events than by the effect which it left. I remember a noble-looking, grey-haired old man standing out in the sunlight, with outstretched hands and a great joy in his face, and I remember a deep hush falling upon the assembled crowd as father and son met after so many years -- a hush which lasted until they stood there, hand grasping hand, and the first words were spoken -- then it gave place to a shout which seemed to shake the air.