She was a widow, she said: and she had come over from Paris to this country for two objects. One was to seek out a relative that she believed was somewhere in it, though she did not know for certain whether he was dead or alive; the other was to obtain employment as a governess--for she had been given to understand that good French governesses were at a premium in the English country, and her own means were but slender, not adequate to the support of herself and little girl. Journeying along by coach, she had found her child attacked with fever, which compelled her to halt at Greylands. Liking the place, perceiving that it was open and healthy, she had been thinking that she should do well to keep her child in it for a time, and therefore was hoping to make her arrangements to do so. Should she be so fortunate as to obtain the post in Mr. Castlemaine's household, the thing would be easy. Very plausibly did she tell the tale; turning, however, hot and cold alternately all the while, and detesting herself for the abhorred deceit. "But--pardon me, madam--what, in that case, would you do with the child?" asked Mr. Castlemaine. "I would place her at nurse with some good woman, sir. That would not be difficult. And the little thing would enjoy all the benefit of the sea-air. In my country, children are more frequently brought up at nurse than at home." "I have heard so," observed Mr. Castlemaine. "You speak English remarkably well, madam, for a Frenchwoman. Have you been much in this country?" "Never before, sir. My mother was English, and she always talked to me in her own tongue. I was reared in her faith--the protestant. My father was French, and a Catholic. Upon their marriage it was agreed that, of the children to be born, the boys should be brought up in his faith and the girls in hers. There came no boy, however; and only one girl--me." All this was true. Madame Guise did not add, for it was unnecessary, that towards the close of her father's life he entered into large speculations, and became a ruined man. He and her mother were both dead now. She said just what she was obliged to say, and no more. "And it is. I presume, to see your mother's relatives that you have come to England?" pursued Mr. Castlemaine. "Yes, sir," she answered after a moment of hesitation; for it came indeed hard to Charlotte Guise to tell a deliberate untruth, although necessity might justify it. "My mother used to talk much of one relative that she had here--a brother. He may not be living now: I do not know." "In what part of England did he live?" "I think he must have been a traveller, sir, for he seemed to move about. We would hear of him, now in the south of England, now in the north, and now in the west. Mostly he seemed to be in what my mother called remote countries--Cumberland and Westmoreland." "Cumberland and Westmoreland!" echoed Mr. Castlemaine. "Dear me! And have you no better clue to him than that?"