“Well,” said I, “we have only got three names among us; and they are all simple enough.” “Oh, so is Richard Arkwright when it’s a man’s own name,” said Harry. “Now what do you think of my discovery? I confess I think it’s something to know where one’s family belong to. If I could only have taken you to our dear old Rectory, Milly. What a pleasure it would have been to have thought of you there! I could have watched you all round every turn of the garden, although I had been at the other end of the world.” “You are not going to the other end of the world; and we have no claim upon the Rectory now, any more than on my grandfather,” said I. “Here is a cup of tea for you. Now do be content; and don’t talk, Harry; at least not on that subject. Of all the places in the world I like Edinburgh, a little to the south of the Castle, and close upon Bruntsfield Links.” “You have no imagination, Milly,” said he. “However, we’ll hear what old Pendleton says; and if there is anything known about it I should be very much tempted, little as we have at present----” “To throw our poor good money away,” cried I. “You who grudged baby his pretty hood! Oh, Harry, Harry, what wild fancies have you taken into your head?” “To make my Milly a refuge when I’m away. Not so wild, after all,” he said to himself softly. I made a noise with my teacups, and would not hear him. It was hard work keeping cheerful when he would return and return to the same subject. Sometimes I trembled and wondered, with a sudden pang, was it a presentiment? But all the presentiments I ever heard of were sudden and did not last; and it was natural enough, too, that he should be anxious. If he did have to leave me, would not I work, or beg, or steal, or anything, to have everything comfortable for _him_? I forgave Harry for looking out for a home for his poor little wife; but yet every time he spoke of it, it went to my heart.