id he, gravely, "but I have no
doubt it will be good."

"I 'ope so, sir--indeed, I 'ope so; but I dare presume to say that it
will taste bad enough to the likes of you."

Mrs. Chaffin (good soul) had evidently concluded that my cousin was a
man entitled to extra politeness. Hester had adroitly side-tracked the
herring question and started another train of speculation, when her
mother's misgivings were again excited respecting the tea, which Rayel
had just tasted.

"Murky, sir?" she asked, with a glance of alarm. "I 'ope it don't taste
murky."

Mrs. Chaffin's solicitude respecting the tea and the herring reminded
me of the first time I had stretched my tired legs under that hospitable
board at Phil's invitation; of those big, wondering eyes that stared at
me across the table; of the songs and stories which beguiled the evening
hours.

The candles were lit before dinner was over, and when we rose from the
table it was to gather about the warm fire and exchange memories, while
Rayel listened with deep interest. Phil had been promoted from a pair of
legs to a pair of hands, and was now third bookkeeper for the firm. Our
carriage came for us at nine o'clock. Hester had decided to stay a day
or two with her mother, but it was necessary for Rayel and me to return
to London that night, as we were to make an important call the next day.

CHAPTER XVI

Late in the afternoon of the day following our visit to Liverpool we
ascended the big stone steps of my old home and pulled the bell. After
all, I found that my nerves were not quite steady while we were waiting
for the door to open. We had come intending to spend the night there,
and my benefactor had given me certain precautions not calculated to
make me feel entirely at home. Was there some deeper plan underlying
his suggestion as to this visit than he had chosen to explain? I had not
long to consider that point, however, for suddenly the door opened and
a servant in imposing livery confronted us. I handed him my card and we
were shown into the reception room at once. Presently he conducted us to
my stepmother, who greeted me with a great show of cordiality and some
tears. She had grown old fast since I left home, but she had artfully
disguised the evidences of age upon her face and neck. Why had I stayed
away so long? What had she done to deserve such shameful neglect? These
and other questions taxed my wits for an answer that would neither
outrage my own conscien