Linda ran over in her mind the various pieces of property which she was aware of having belonged to the original grants. "There was a good deal of it," she said. "Some of it was sold before my father's time, and he parted with more, so now all we have is the old homestead farm. I should like to know," she continued musingly, "which place you think it really is. I suppose it must be Timber Neck, for that was the first which passed out of our hands." "I cannot tell, for I don't know exactly." "Why didn't you make yourself known before? Didn't you know it would have made a difference to me--to us all, if you belonged, even remotely, to one of the old families?" "Yes, I did, I suppose; but for that very reason I was slow to confess it. I came here under rather awkward circumstances. For a time I was in a position to be looked upon with suspicion, to be considered a mere adventurer. I may be yet," he continued, with a smile and a side glance at the girl, "even if I do pay my board bills and my laundress." "Oh, we don't think that of you; we are quite sure you are genuine," Linda hastened to assure him. "You have only my word. You don't know who my father was." "You just told me he was Charles Jeffreys." "Yes, but--" He did not finish the sentence. "I thought it was due you to know something of myself and my errand." "I am glad to know it." "Thank you. That is very good of you. Do you mind if I ask that you do not repeat what I have been telling you?" "Not even to Miss Ri?" Mr. Jeffreys considered the question. "I think Miss Hill should certainly know, for she was my first friend; and Mr. Matthews, too, perhaps. I will tell them and ask them to respect my secret for the present. When I can come among you as one who has a right to claim ancestry with one of your Eastern Shore families, that will be a different thing." [Illustration: "BUT YOU MUST NOT CALL ME COUSIN," SAID LINDA.] Linda would like to have asked for more of his personal history and, as if reading her thought, he went on: "I have not had a wildly-adventurous life; it has been respectably commonplace. I had a fair education, partly in Europe; but I am not college-bred. My father was a gentleman, but not over-successful in business. He left only a life insurance for my mother, enough for her needs, if used with care. My mother died two years ago, and I have neither brother nor sister." Linda's sympathy went out. "Neither have I brother nor sister," she returned softly. "I can understand just how lonely you must be. But you know you have discovered a cousin, and you may consider it a real relationship." The young man cast her a grateful look. "That makes me feel much less of an alien. I am afraid an outsider would not meet with such graciousness up our way." "But you must not call me cousin," said Linda, "or we shall have your secret public property, and that will never do." Her sweet eyes were very tenderly bright, and the gentle curve of her lips suggested a smile.