"_Great_-grandson. His father was grandson," said Mr. Peers; "he held a commission in the army and died in the West Indies. This Philip Feltram is the last o' that line--illegitimate, you know, it is held--and the little that remained of the Feltram property went nearly fourscore years ago to the Mardykes, and this Philip is maintained by Sir Bale; it is pleasant, notwithstanding all the stories one hears, gentlemen, that the only thing we know of him for certain should be so creditable to his kindness." "To be sure," acquiesced Mr. Turnbull. While they talked the horn sounded, and the mail-coach drew up at the door of the George and Dragon to set down a passenger and his luggage. Dick Turnbull rose and went out to the hall with careful bustle, and Doctor Torvey followed as far as the door, which commanded a view of it, and saw several trunks cased in canvas pitched into the hall, and by careful Tom and a boy lifted one on top of the other, behind the corner of the banister. It would have been below the dignity of his cloth to go out and read the labels on these, or the Doctor would have done otherwise, so great was his curiosity. CHAPTER III Philip Feltram The new guest was now in the hall of the George, and Doctor Torvey could hear him talking with Mr. Turnbull. Being himself one of the dignitaries of Golden Friars, the Doctor, having regard to first impressions, did not care to be seen in his post of observation; and closing the door gently, returned to his chair by the fire, and in an under-tone informed his cronies that there was a new arrival in the George, and he could not hear, but would not wonder if he were taking a private room; and he seemed to have trunks enough to build a church with. "Don't be too sure we haven't Sir Bale on board," said Amerald, who would have followed his crony the Doctor to the door--for never was retired naval hero of a village more curious than he--were it not that his wooden leg made a distinct pounding on the floor that was inimical, as experience had taught him, to mystery. "That can't be," answered the Doctor; "Charley Twyne knows everything about it, and has a letter every second day; and there's no chance of Sir Bale before the tenth; this is a tourist, you'll find. I don't know what the d---l keeps Turnbull; he knows well enough we are all naturally willing to hear who it is."