"No, poor boy," said Aline, a little sorrowfully, I thought. "He surely is not. Clearly, he knows nothing about the feud or he would have recognized our name as soon as he heard it." "If he knew, I don't suppose it would make any difference," said I; "those musty old hatreds can't go on for ever." "I don't believe any ever existed, except in Sir Rupert's heart. I know our grandfather, whom he had wronged deeply, forgave him fully, and, when he spoke of him in his latter days, wept, I have heard, because at one time he had thought of him like a brother, and, being the good man he was, the old affection had come back." "You will ask him, I suppose, if we are not right?" "Oh yes, I shall ask him! but it can make no difference at present. Here he must stay till he is fit to go, and I shall make that plain to him." "But afterwards?" "Afterwards?" said Aline, looking sad. "I fear we shall see no more of him. By the way, I left you reading to him." "Yes, I handed over the reading to Esther when I felt I had to come and tell you." "Better go back now, dear Hilda," she said gently. "Of course it must make no difference in our treatment of him while he stays, but we must remember that when he goes, he goes finally." From this I guessed that she, too, had a vague uneasiness about Esther. When I opened the door of the room and went in, I saw that the reading had evidently been over for some time. Tennyson lay on the floor unheeded, and the two were talking like old friends. The boy looked flushed and happy and a little shy. Esther, more unconscious, was listening to his talk at her ease, but evidently much interested. "We have been talking, Miss Hilda," said the boy. "Your sister disclaimed any idea of reading poetry after you, so we talked instead; at least I talked, all about myself, and your sister listened." "Essie is always a good listener," said I absently. Presently Aline came in to pay the invalid her usual afternoon visit. I was relieved when, a minute or two afterwards, Esther went out. Somehow I wanted to tell her first, not to have it sprung on her suddenly, that the young stranger was one we must not permit ourselves to like. After a few commonplace phrases had been spoken, Aline said: "By the way, it is a little odd that we don't yet know your name. It hasn't struck you that we have no name to call you by?" The young fellow blushed and laughed. "By Jove, how stupid of me! It never struck me that all your goodness was shown to a man whose name actually you were in ignorance of. I am Harry De Lacy." "Sir Rupert De Lacy's grandson?" "Yes. Do you know him? But I don't suppose you do. He is like an ogre shut up in his castle; but you will know of him by repute. He was rather a shock to me, Miss Brandon, for my dear old grandfather in Warwickshire had not at all prepared me for him. He is rather odd, you know." "Perhaps your English grandfather did not know," said Aline with her face averted.