"I should like that proof of the truth of your story, sir. I am a lawyer." "Give me your hand, then." He took the old man's index finger, bent lower, and pressed it upon the back of his head. The old man shuddered and drew back. "And if you want any further proof that I am the man I say, I have one here that I had forgotten. When I was a child, for some freak, my father tattooed a heart and dart upon my breast. There they are." He tore open the flannel shirt he wore, and displayed the blue marks upon his clear white skin. "There, sir; that is all I can tell you now. The next thing is to confront Mr Dan Portway." "You think, then, that your old companion--I mean you wish me to believe that your old companion took everything he could to prove his identity, and has come here, and traded upon the knowledge he won?" "And come here and laid claim to the estate, sir. Yes, I could lay my life that is the case." At that moment there was a tap at the door. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. "IT'S HIM; IT'S HIM!" "Come in." Mrs Denton entered timidly, looking nervously at the stranger, and then said deprecatingly: "Mrs Hampton sent me, sir, to say she should be glad to speak to you, sir." "Yes, yes, of course. Well, sir, I have heard all you wanted to say?" "No, not yet," cried the young man excitedly. "I say, old lady, you remember me?" The old woman looked at him wistfully, and shook her head. "No, sir, no," she said. "Oh, yes, you do," he cried merrily. "Don't you remember washing me when I was a little chap in a sort of tin bath with spots on it, red spots, and the inside was white, with shiny places, where the paint had come off." The old woman gazed at him wildly. "You remember? The bottom curved up and as I stood on it, gave way, and then came up again with a loud bump." She still gazed at him silently, while he seemed to be trying to evoke old memories. "Yes, to be sure, and you put me to bed in a great four-post affair, with heavy tassels and bobs round the top, and they swung to and fro, and--to be sure, yes, you set a great night-shade full of round holes on the floor, with a tin cup of water in it, and a long thin rushlight in the middle. Oh, yes, I remember seeing those holes reflected on the wall." "Yes, my dear," cried the old woman excitedly, "and it has never been used since. No, Mr Hampton, sir, there are no long rushlights now." "Come, sir," cried the young man excitedly, "we are beginning to feel bottom after all." "But--but--" faltered the old woman, and then stopped. "Why, my dear old lady," cried the young man, taking her withered hands, "I can remember you holding my little palms together as I knelt on the bed, and teaching me to say a kind of prayer. Let me see, what was it-- I've never heard it since--yes, that's it: