He alighted at the entrance and sent in his name, and was immediately shown into the library, where a tall old man was sitting. “I understand, sir,” he said stiffly, “that you claim to be the son of my son, William Gilmore?” “I do, sir, and I think the proofs I shall give you will satisfy you. You will understand, sir, please, before I do so, that I have no desire whatever to make any claim upon you; I simply wished to be recognized as a member of your family.” The old man looked him up and down, and then motioned him to take a seat. “And what has become of your father, supposing him to be your father?” he asked with an evident effort. “He died, sir, nearly twenty years ago.” The old man was silent for some little time, and then he said: “And you, sir, what have you been doing since then? But first, in what circumstances did he die?” “In the very poorest. For the last two years of his life he earned his living and mine as a wandering fiddler.” “And what became of you?” “I was brought up, sir, by a fisherman in the village in Yorkshire in which my father died.” “Your manner of speech does not at all agree with that, sir,” the old man said sharply. “No, sir,” Will said quietly. “I had the good fortune to attract the interest of the clergyman’s daughter, and she was good enough to assist me in my education and urge me on to study.” “And what is your trade or profession, sir?” “I have the honour, sir, to be post-captain in His Majesty’s navy.” “You a post-captain in His Majesty’s navy!” the old man said scornfully. “Do you think to take me in with such a tale as that? You might possibly be a very junior lieutenant.” “I am not surprised that you think so, sir. Nevertheless I am indeed what I say. My name appeared in the _Gazette_ a month ago.” “I remember now,” the baronet said, “there was a William Gilmore appointed to that rank. The name struck me as I glanced through the _Gazette_. I had noticed it before on several occasions, and I sighed as I thought to myself how different must have been his career from that of my unfortunate son. Now, sir, I beg that you will let me see your proofs.” “In the first place, sir, there is this seal with your armorial bearings, which was found upon him after his death. This is a looking-glass, one which I believe was given to him by his mother. This is the violin with which he earned his living.” The old man stretched his hand out for the violin, with tears in his eyes. “I gave it to him,” he said, “when he was eighteen. I thought it a great piece of extravagance at the time, but he had such a taste for music that I thought he deserved the best instrument I could get. The looking-glass I also recognize, and of course the seal. Is there anything more, sir?” “This, sir, is the certificate of my baptism at St. Matthew’s Church, Westminster. This is a statement of my lawyer’s clerk, who interviewed the woman in whose house my father and mother lived, and my mother died.”