Then with what unwonted and flattering deference the boy's entertainer had treated him. To him he was Sir Louis, the head of the house. He would heir its great properties, the value and extent of which had been hidden from him by Irma and myself. Doubtless we had our own reasons for thus concealing the truth, but Uncle Lalor's position with the Government enabled him to assure Sir Louis that, through his influence, all its ancient dignities would be restored to the family. Hence it was that, at the first sight of the slim man with the powdered wig tied in a gay favour behind his back, Louis had run and flung himself into his arms. Perhaps, also, it had something to do with his disappointment in Irma, and it was in this open way that he chose to punish her. Yet when Lalor Maitland had come into the parlour, and I had spoken with him, the man's frank and smiling recognition of the circumstances, his high, easy manner, an old-world politeness as of one long familiar with courts, yet a kindly gentleman withal, prepossessed me in his favour even against myself. "Well," he said, with that rare smile which distinguished him, "here we have the fortune of war. You and I have met before, sir, and there are few that have faced me as you did, being at the time only a boy--and not myself only, but Dick, the boldest man on the _Golden Hind_." He tapped a careless tattoo on the table with his fingers. "Ah, they were good days, after all," he said; "mad days--when it was win ten thousand or walk the plank every time the brig put her nose outside the harbour bar!" "It turned out the ten thousand, I presume?" I said, without too much unbending. "Oh," he answered lightly, "as to myself, I was never very deeply entered. I had ever an anchor out to windward. It was rare that I acted without orders, and, having been in a high official position, it was in my power to render certain important services to the Government of this country--for which, I may say, they have not proved themselves less ungrateful than is the way of governments." "So it would seem," I answered. "But," he continued, "I called chiefly to renew my acquaintance with my sometime wards--though one of them has sought another and a better guardian" (here he bowed very gracefully to me), "and the other--well, Louis lad, what have you to say to your old uncle?" The boy came bounding up, and stood close by his chair, smoothing the lace of Lalor's sleeve, his eyes full of happiness and confidence. It was a pretty sight, and for a moment I confess I was baffled. Could it be that after all Louis was right and Irma wrong? Could this man have supposed that the children were being held against their will and interest, or at least fraudulently removed from their legal guardian, when he assaulted the old house of Marnhoul?