"I can, but I don't know whose they are. I can hear somebody call from the upper chamber--`Gerard, is that you?' and the pleasant-faced man says, `Tell Ermine' something. That is what made me ask you, Mother. I met a man to-day in Cheapside who looked hard at me, and who made me think both of that pleasant-faced man, and also of the stern man; and as I had to wait for a cart to pass, another man and woman came and spoke to him, and he said to the woman, `Well, when are you coming to see Ermine?' The face, and his curious, puzzled look at me, and the name, carried me back all at once to that house and the people there. He looked as if he thought he ought to know me, and could not tell exactly who I was. And just as I came away, I fancied I heard another word or two, spoken low as if not for me or somebody to hear--something about--`like him and Agnes too.' I wonder if I ever knew any one called Agnes? I have a faint impression that I did. Can you tell me, Mother?" "I will tell thee, Ralph. But answer me first. Wert thou always called Ralph?" "I cannot tell, Mother," replied the youth, with an interested look. "I fancy, somehow, that I once used to be called something not that exactly, and yet very like it. I have tried to recover it, and cannot. Was it some pet name used by somebody?" "No. It was your own name--which Ralph is not." "O Mother! what was it?" "Wait a moment. Did you ever hear of any one called--Countess?" She brought out the second name with hesitation, as if she spoke it unwillingly. The youth shook his head. "Let that pass." "But who was it, Mother?" "Never mind who it was. No relative of yours--Rudolph." "Rudolph!" The young man sprang to his feet. "That was my name! I know it was, but I never could get hold of it. I shall not forget it again." "Do not forget it again. But let it be for ourselves only. To the world outside you are still `Ralph.' It is wiser." "Very well, Mother." This youth had been well trained, and was far more obedient to his adopted mother than most sons at that time were to their real parents. With the Saxons a mother had always been under the control of an adult son; and the Normans who had won possession of England had by no means abolished either the social customs or modes of thought of the vanquished people. In fact, the moral ascendancy soon rested with the subject race. The Norman noble who dried his washed hands in the air, sneered at the Saxon thrall who wiped his on a towel; but the towel was none the less an article of necessary furniture in the house of the Norman's grandson. It has often been the case in the history of the world, that the real victory has rested with the vanquished: but it has always been brought about by the one race mixing with and absorbing the other. Where that does not take place, the conquerors remain dominant. "Now, my son, listen and think. I have some questions to ask. What faith have I taught thee?"