"Young sir, thou hast a strange story to tell, and I would hear it anon. If thou hadst not succoured my daughter in her hour of need, I must have bid thee welcome to my house and my table. Since thou hast done this also, I do it the more readily. I scarce knew that my misguided sister had borne a son. Whether he lived or died I had no means of knowing. But if thou art he, come in, and be welcome. I will hear thy tale anon. Meantime stand no longer without in the cold." If this welcome were something coldly given, Cuthbert was not aware of it. Used as he was to his father's fierce sullenness and taciturnity, any other manner seemed warm and pleasant. He followed this new uncle up the dark staircase without any misgiving, and found himself quickly in the well-warmed and well-lighted eating parlour, where Mistress Susan was already bustling about in a very noisy fashion, getting the viands ready for serving. A dark frown was on her face, and her whole aspect was thundery. The sisters and Rachel had all vanished upstairs to hear Cherry's story as they got her ready for the supper table, excitement in this new arrival of an unknown kinsman having saved the girl from any chiding or questioning from father or aunt. The Coles, father and son, had returned to the upper parlour with the discretion and refinement of feeling natural to them; so that only Abraham Dyson witnessed the next scene in the little domestic drama, for Jacob had obediently gone off with the horse. Martin Holt pushed his nephew before him into the lighted room, and looked him well over from head to foot. "There is little of thy mother about thee, boy," he said, with some stern bitterness of tone. "I fear me thou art all thy father's son." "My father says not so," answered Cuthbert, facing his uncle fearlessly. "He has flung it again and yet again in my teeth that I am the heretic son of my heretic mother." Martin Holt uttered an inarticulate exclamation and came a step nearer. "Say that again, boy--say that again! Can it be true that thy unhappy and deluded mother repented of her Popish errors ere she died, and turned back to the pure faith of her childhood? If that be so, it is like a mill stone rolled from off my heart. I have wept for her all these years as for one of the lost." "I was too young when she died to remember aught of her teaching, but I have seen those who tell me she was fearfully unhappy with my father, and abjured his faith ere she died. I know that he reviles her memory, and he forbids even her children to speak of her. He would scarce have branded her with the hateful name of heretic had she adhered to his faith till her death." "Susan, dost hear that?" cried Martin Holt, turning exultantly to his sister. "It was as our mother fondly said. She was not lost for ever; she returned to her former faith. Nay, I doubt not that in some sort she died for it--died through the harshness and sternness of her husband. Susan, dost hear--dost understand?"