"Not at all, sir," answered Reginald warmly, "no one has such a right to speak to me as you have--my second father--I may say my only father." Dr. Larcher smiled in a gratified manner and looked at the tall young man standing near him with approval. "I am glad to have your good opinion," he said, politely bending his head, "but in order that you may understand me clearly you must permit me to recapitulate as shortly as possible the story of your life--this is a very critical period of your career--remember Horace, _Tu nisi ventis debis ludibrium cave_." Blake turned pale, then, with a forced smile resumed his seat and waited for the vicar to proceed, which that worthy gentleman did, not without some embarrassment. "Of course you understand," he said clearing his throat, "that I am quite unaware of your parentage--whether your father and mother are alive I do not know--about two-and-twenty years ago you were brought to me by Patience Allerby, your nurse, who had just then returned from London, where she had been in service. She told me that you were the son of a poor literary man and his wife, whose servant she had been, they went away to France and--I understand--died there. She was left with you on her hands so brought you down here and delivered you to my charge; since then you have been an inmate of my house." "The only home I ever knew," interposed Blake with emotion. "I will not deny," said Dr. Larcher, "that I have received through your nurse certain sums of money for your education which leads me to believe--in spite of her denial--that your parents may be still alive. This is well enough in the past, but now you are twenty-two years of age and I wish to make some arrangements about your future career--you will of course choose your own vocation in life--but meantime I wish you to ask Patience Allerby about your birth and obtain from her all information regarding your parents which may be of use to me--you can do so when you go over to the Grange to-day--and then let me know the result; afterwards we can discuss ways and means regarding your future." "It's very kind of you, sir to talk like this," said Blake in a low voice, "and I feel deeply grateful to you. I will see Patience and get her to tell me all she knows, but I'm afraid I can expect nothing from my parents, even though they are alive--a father and mother who could leave their child to the mercy of strangers all these years cannot have much humanity." "Do not judge them too harshly," said the vicar hastily, "there may be reasons." "I've no doubt of that," replied Blake bitterly, "reasons which mean shame." "Not necessarily--a secret marriage----" "Would have been declared long before the lapse of twenty years," said Reggy quickly. "I'm afraid there is worse than that and my birth was my mother's shame."