So he was all the more surprised and aggrieved when the Master of
the house said to him one night, as they sat late by the fire:
"I suspect you."
"But of what?" cried the Guest.
"Of caring more for the house that you came from than for the house
that you live in."
"But you know I was at home there once," said the Guest, "would
you have me forget that? Surely you will not deny me the freedom
of my thoughts and memories and fond feelings. Would you make me
less than a man?"
"No," said the Master, "but I will ask you to choose between your
old home and your new home now. The house in which you lived formerly
is become our enemy--a nest of brigands and bloody men. They have
killed a child of ours on the highway. They threaten us to-night
with an attack in force. Tell me plainly where you stand."
The Guest looked down his nose toward the smouldering embers of the
fire. He knocked out the dottle of his pipe on one of the andirons.
Two fat tears rolled down his cheeks; he was very sentimental.
"I am with you," he said.
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