“That’s very odd,” said Albert. “Sir Francis Hartleton is a great man. The king knighted him lately, I heard, and he is a magistrate. This is quite a mystery, my dear Harry. I dare say you are some prince, really.” Harry looked up with a beaming smile in the face of his young friend, as he said,— “Be I who or what I may, I shall never forget Albert Seyton.” “You have a good heart, Harry,” cried Albert, throwing his arm affectionately round his young friend’s neck, “and when my father gets his own again, I will get him to ask your uncle to let you stay with us.” “That would be joy,” said Harry, clasping his hands—“oh, such joy!” “You are a little delicate thing, you know,” continued Albert, “and you want somebody to take care you are not affronted nor imposed upon; and woe to anybody who dared so much as to—” The door was at this moment suddenly flung open, and, livid with rage, Jacob Gray stood on the threshold. Harry gave a faint cry of alarm, and Albert started to his feet from kneeling by the box, and boldly confronted Gray. “So,” cried Gray, striding into the room, and shutting the door violently behind him—“so, it is thus I find you engaged!” “Sir,” said Albert Seyton, “if you have any fault to find, find it with me and not with Harry. If he has done wrong, it was my fault; and—and—” “And what, young sir?” “I suppose I must fight you,” added Albert. “Brat! beggar’s brat!” shrieked Gray, rushing towards the box. “What have you seen—what have you done?” “Seen very little, and done nothing,” said Albert. Gray aimed a blow at Harry, which was warded by Albert, who cried,— “For shame, sir—for shame to strike him. By Heavens! Mr. Gray, if you hurt Harry I’ll just go to Sir Francis Hartleton, and tell him there is something that concerns him in your big box here.” Jacob Gray stood with his aim uplifted, as if paralysed at this threat. He trembled violently, and sank into a chair. Several times he tried to speak, and at length he said, with a forced smile, which sat hideously upon his distorted features,— “Well—well, it’s not much matter. Never mind, Harry, I—I have come back, you see, so there need be no appeal made to the kindness of Sir Francis in your behalf. It was—that is, the papers merely say you were an orphan, and ask him to do something for you: but no matter—no matter.” “Then you forgive Harry?” said Seyton. “Yes, yes—oh, yes.” “Thank you, sir—thanks; he meant no wrong. Good-bye, dear Harry. Your uncle will say no more about it now.” Harry Gray raised his head from the edge of the box, and his eyes were filled with tears. He took Albert’s hand and pressed it to his lips. CHAPTER X. The Disappearance.—Mrs. Bridget Strangeways and the Old Oaken Chest.—Albert’s Grief and Despair.