“But they might say _you_ put it there, Charlie, and that it was not true,” said Mr Atheling, who rather piqued himself upon his caution. “That was what I had the other young fellow for,” said Charlie quietly; “and that was what made me quite sure she belonged to the Remoris; it was easy enough after that--and I want only one link now, that is, to make sure of their identity. Father, do you remember anything about the children when they came to the Hall?” Mr Atheling shook his head. “Your aunt Bridget, if she had been alive, would have been sure to know,” said Mamma meditatively; “but Louis found out some old servant lately that had been about Winterbourne long ago.” “Louis! does he know?” cried Charlie. “He is doing something on his own account, inquiring everything he can about Lord Winterbourne. He does not know, but guesses every possible kind of thing, except the truth,” said Mr Atheling; “how long he may be of lighting upon that, it is impossible to say.” “Now Charlie, my dear boy, you can ask all about Louis to-morrow,” said Mrs Atheling. “Louis! Dear me, William, to think of us calling him Louis, and treating him like any common young man, and he Lord Winterbourne all the time! and all through Charlie!--and oh, my Marian! when I think of it all, it bewilders me! But, Charlie, my dear, you must not be fatigued too much. Do not ask him any more questions to-night, papa; consider how important his health is; he must lie down directly. I’ll make him all comfortable; and, William, do you go to the parlour--bid him good-night.” Papa obeyed, as dutiful papas are wont to obey, and Charlie laughed, but submitted, as his mother, with her own kind unwearying hands, arranged for him the sofa in the best room; for the Tyrolese and Miss Anastasia occupied all the available bedrooms in the house. Then she bade him good-night, drawing back his dark elf-locks, and kissing his forehead tenderly, and with a certain respect for the big boy who was a boy no longer; and then the good mother went away to arrange her husband similarly on the other sofa, and to take possession, last of all, of the easy-chair. “I can sleep in the day if I am disposed,” said Mrs Atheling, who never was disposed for any such indulgence; and she leaned back in the big chair, with a mind disturbed and glowing, agitated with grand fancies. Marian! was it possible? But then, Agnes--after all, what a maze of splendid uncertainty it was! CHAPTER XXIII. PROCRASTINATION. “You may say what you like, young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers, “you’ve a very good right to your own opinion; but I’m not a lawyer, nor bound by rule and precedent, mind. This is the middle of March; _it_ comes on in April; we must wait for that; and you’re not up with all your evidence, you dilatory boy.” “But I might happen to be up with it in a day,” said Charlie, “and at all events an ejectment should be served, and the first step taken in the case without delay.”