"But how can I have been so many minutes without asking for your beloved Collector?" she said; and though the topic was congenial, Mark grudged the digression from more personal matters. "Mr. Worsley is quite a family friend here now, you know. He spent a week of his furlough with us and took everybody by storm. Father and mother were so happy with him, and he with them. He seemed like a delightful balm; and yet I remember when I wouldn't listen to your praise of him and felt sure he must be the surly bear people said he was! But, Mark, I must tell you, he made some rather sceptical remarks about your being a Eurasian. I think father was rather shocked at his levity. He said it was only a hallucination of yours--though an excellent one--seeing the Eurasians needed friends so much." "Then I suspect the Collector will have a crow over me now!" said Mark, with a laugh. "What do you think, Hester? I discovered a box of papers in a lumber room at Cheveril. It had never been opened seemingly since it was sent home from the East after my father's death. He was Uncle Mark's younger brother, you know, a lieutenant in the Indian Army; and I find that my mother who was always believed to be an Indian--and a princess to boot--was after all an English girl, lost at the time of the Mutiny, though she had a happier fate than some, for she was adopted by a good Ranee. She was only seventeen when my father married her, and she died at my birth. My father died soon after, and I was sent home to my grandparents at Cheveril; very likely the old cedar-wood box was part of my baggage! I've always understood from Uncle Mark that owing to my father's hasty marriage there was a coldness between my grandparents and him, and that letters ceased between them, though his early death was said to be a great blow. Probably they heard misleading rumours of the choice of a girl from the Ranee's palace. It was a romantic affair, of course, and would be sure to set tongues wagging. Anyhow, the truth has been disclosed at last by this old chest which looks so Indian that I expect it was part of my mother's providing by the Ranee. My mother, by the way, was a daughter of a General Worsley. I can't help thinking and hoping that she must have been of the same family as the Collector; but that will all be cleared up by and by." "And are you glad or sorry, Mark?" asked Hester, with a wistful look in her eyes. "Well, to know the truth is always best, don't you think?" said Mark simply. "But I'll tell you who is jolly glad--my uncle! He says he rejoices there has been no 'blot on the scutcheon' after all! He is in great excitement, and has had his lawyer down to examine the old papers which he might have discovered long ago."