"Oh, well!" she answered unhesitatingly, as if she had known him all the intervening space between that, and the present. "I had never quitted home then, since when, I have been much at Loughton, with my cousin Dora; but I remember that happy time well. I was a very, very joyous child. They say, those kind of children know much and early trouble; but I don't believe that--do you?" "Heaven keep you from it!" he energetically said, "_I_ was a _very_ happy boy." Minnie looked up in his handsome face, and her bright blue eyes clouded over--"Poor Miles Tremenhere!" she thought. "You used to ride," he continued, "on a pretty grey pony, and a large dog always followed it." "Yes!" she answered amazed; "and old Thomas, my uncle's coachman, walked beside me; but how do you know this, Mr. Tremenhere?" "One day," he replied, "a young man's horse ran away with him, in the long lane skirting your grounds at Gatestone, and upset the grey pony and its pretty burthen. As soon as he recovered the command of his horse, he returned and found the little girl, not hurt, but very much frightened; so he dismounted and took the pretty child on his knee, and her little arms clung round his neck, as she assured him she was not hurt. He often thought of that sweet girl, and her long flaxen curls; but somehow, he lost her recollection, amidst the waves of the troubled life he afterwards was doomed to. He only found it again, half an hour ago; then he again saw, as now he sees in Memory's magic glass, that sweet infant face, the little arms so confidently round his neck, and the kiss she gave him on both cheeks. _I_ was that young man--man _even then_,--_you_, that pretty loving child, Miss Dalzell." Minnie was rosy red to her very brow as he spoke of that kiss; then with a native grace, all her own, she held out both her tiny hands, and all smiles as he grasped them, said--"Oh, Mr. Tremenhere! I _do remember_ it; I am so delighted we have met before this sad time to you; it gives me a right to defend, and think well of you." What would Mrs. Gillett have said, had she seen Miles's dark moustache pressed upon Minnie's lovely hands, in speechless gratitude? "I don't know how it happened," he said, after a moment's silence; "but there was but little intimacy between our families. _I_ came frequently here, but then I rambled every where; moreover, I had, and have, a passion for my pencil, and strolled about the grounds, sketching every thing, I had so many favourite old trees and sites here." "And do you sketch now? have you any of these? I should much like to see them." "Yes, I sketch still, and, more than that, I paint, chisel my thoughts in marble--all." "What a delicious pastime!" she cried, enthusiastically. "'Tis more than that to me," he answered, and a cloud passed over his brow; "it is _now_ a profession to me--one ardently pursued, for a motive hallows it!" "Your mother!" she uttered.