“I know very well about that quarter myself,” said Mrs Atheling. “Do you know the Old Wood Lodge? that belongs to us; and if you have friends in the village, I daresay I shall know your name.” The man put up his hand to his forehead respectfully. “I knowed the old lady at the Lodge many a year ago,” said he. “My name’s John Morrall. I was no more nor a helper at the stables in my day; and a sister of mine had charge of some children about the Hall.” “Some children--who were they?” said Charlie. “Perhaps Lord Winterbourne’s children; but that would be very long ago.” “Well, sir,” said the man with a little confusion, glancing aside at Mrs Atheling, “saving the lady’s presence, I’d be bold to say that they was my lord’s, but in a sort of an--unlawful way; two poor little morsels of twins, that never had nothing like other children. He wasn’t any way kind to them, wasn’t my lord.” “I think I know the children you mean,” said Charlie, to the surprise and admiration of his mother, who checked accordingly the exclamation on her own lips. “Do you know where they came from?--were you there when they were brought to the Hall?” “Ay, sir, _I_ know--no man better,” said Morrall. “Sally was the woman--all along of my lord’s man that she was keeping company with the same time, little knowing, poor soul, what she was to come to--that brought them unfortunate babbies out of London. I don’t know no more. Sally’s opinion was, they came out o’ foreign parts afore that; for the nurse they had with them, Sally said, was some outlandish kind of a Portugee.” “A Portuguese!” exclaimed both the listeners in dismay--but Charlie added immediately, “What made your sister suppose she was a Portuguese?” “Well, sir, she was one of them foreign kind of folks--but noways like my lady’s French maid, Sally said--so taking thought what she was, a cousin of ours that’s a sailor made no doubt but she was a Portugee--so she gave up the little things to Sally, not one of them able to say a word to each other; for the foreign woman, poor soul, knew no English, and Sally brought down the babbies to the Hall.” “Does your sister live at Winterbourne?” asked Charlie. “What, Sally, sir? poor soul!” said John Morrall, “to her grief she married my lord’s man, again all we could say, and he went pure to the bad, as was to be seen of him, and listed--and now she’s off in Ireland with the regiment, a poor creature as you could see--five children, ma’am, alive, and she’s had ten; always striving to do her best, but never able, poor soul, to keep a decent gown to her back.” “Will you tell me where she is?” said Charlie, while his mother went hospitably away to bring a glass of wine, a rare and unusual dainty, for the refreshment of this most welcome visitor--“there is an inquiry going on at present, and her evidence might be of great value: it will be good for her, don’t fear. Let me know where she is.”