Thrusting them into one of the pockets of his shooting-jacket, he took the letters out again, at one grasp, to read them when occasion served, later in the day.
The grasp included the whole correspondence, with one exception--that exception being a final report from the civil engineer, which notified the termination of the connection between his pupil and himself, and the immediate return of Frank to his father's house.
While this important announcement lay unsuspected in Mr.Vanstone's pocket, the object of it was traveling home, as fast as railways could take him.

At half-past ten at night, while Mr.Clare was sitting in studious solitude over his books and his green tea, with his favorite black cat to keep him company, he heard footsteps in the passage--the door opened--and Frank stood before him.
Ordinary men would have been astonished.

But the philosopher's composure was not to be shaken by any such trifle as the unexpected return of his eldest son.

He could not have looked up more calmly from his learned volume if Frank had been absent for three minutes instead of three years.
"Exactly what I predicted," said Mr.Clare.

"Don't interrupt me by making explanations; and don't frighten the cat.