‘Grown!’ interrupted Mrs. Larkins. ‘It’s you who’ve grown out of all memory almost, except to those who love you. But now sit down and let’s know all about it. What brought _you_ to take the shilling? and you never let on, not one word. You might have written to us, Hercules. We, Jonadab and me, have had you always in our thoughts, thinking you were getting to be a fine gentleman who’d have nothing to do with the likes of us.’ ‘As if I could ever forget my mother.’ Mrs. Larkins made a gesture which might have meant a strong negative to the expression. ‘When did you leave school? Why did you enlist! You never wrote to us.’ ‘Four years ago. I was turned adrift in the world, that was why. I wrote over and over again to the Horse Guards, but could not hear where you were.’ ‘And Lady Farrington, did she change her mind, or what?’ ‘She went mad, so they said, and they locked her up in an asylum.’ ‘Mad!’ shouted the sergeant. ‘Didn’t I always tell you so? mad? She were madder than Mike Horniblow who shot the Maltee, and as mad as our old colonel on an inspection parade.’ ‘How was she locked up? who did it? Let’s know all that,’ said Mrs. Larkins. Herbert recounted fully all that had occurred. His leaving Deadham School, the visit to the west country, Sir Rupert Farrington’s ill-treatment. ‘So that’s what the poor soul was after! Searching for a grandson to succeed to the title and estates,’ cried the sergeant. ‘And you were the last that she found. Well: it’s an ill wind, you know; leastways you got the schooling, even if you are none of her kith or kin.’ ‘I suppose I am not, really?’ Herbert asked, looking very hard at Mrs. Larkins, who met the glance without lowering her eyes. There was something in her expression which Herbert immediately understood. There must be an explanation between them, but it could not take place then and there. ‘How should you be?’ asked the sergeant. ‘Didn’t I take you over with the mother when I married her at York? The widow Conlan, she was then, and you her only child.’ ‘Conlan is my name then?’ ‘By rights, yes; but you’ve took that of Larkins now, and you are a credit to it; so you may take it for what it’s worth, and keep it till you can find a better.’ Was there ever a chance of that? Was he really a Farrington after all, and might he yet prove his claims? Of this no one could give him a clue but Mrs. Larkins, and he gathered from her manner that the subject was one which she would only discuss when they were alone. He had no chance that time of speaking to her on this the subject nearest his heart. The rest of the evening was spent in the interchange of personal news, as is the case when friends and relatives meet after a long separation, and there is so much on both sides to tell and hear. But Herbert went to the cottage next day. The sergeant, fortunately, was at the barrack-office; Mimie was out of the way, and Mrs. Larkins had the house all to herself.