good-day. You will not let me thank you, as I should have wished, for the service you have rendered my house, but believe me, I am none the less grateful. By the way, your name is not a common one. May I ask if you have any relatives in this county?"
"Only one at present, I fancy—my father's brother, Sir William Hatteras, of Murdlestone, in the New Forest."
"Ah! I never met him. I knew his brother James very well in my younger days. But he got into sad trouble, poor fellow, and was obliged to fly the country."
"You are speaking of my father. And you knew him?"
"Knew him? indeed, I did. And a better fellow never stepped; but, like most of us in those days, too wild—much too wild! And so you are James's son? Well, well! This is indeed a strange coincidence. But, if that is so, I must beg your pardon for speaking so candidly of your father."
"No offence, I'm sure."
"And pray tell me where my old friend is now?"
"Dead, your Grace! He was drowned at sea."
The worthy old gentleman seemed really distressed at this news. He shook his head, and I heard him murmur:
"Poor Jim! Poor Jim!"
Then, turning to me again, he took my hand.
"This makes our bond a doubly strong one. You must let me see more of you! How long do you propose remaining in England?"
"Not very much longer, I fear. I am already beginning to hunger for the South again."
"Well, you must not go before you have paid us a
