such a familiar but long-forgotten sound. He had never heard it since he came to Edgeley. And why did his grandfather give him no answer to his question when he asked what he had to do with that name? The wildest fancies went circling about his brain. Why was his name taken from him? Who was he? Had he indeed lost both father and mother in those old, long-forgotten days, or was she--the grave mother of old, the mother who never played with him or caressed him--was she--could she be after all--Emily? His heart grew sick at the thought--sick not so much with repugnance and opposition as with the recollection of how he must have wounded her, insulted her, if this was so. He tried next day to get some satisfaction from his grandfather, but failed entirely. John began by telling the old man that, now he had found out his real name, he intended to be called no longer John Sandford, but John May--words which turned Mr. Sandford livid with horror, and for a moment dumb with passion. ‘You shall do nothing of the sort,’ he cried, ‘unless you want to break at once and for ever with me.’ ‘But, grandfather----’ ‘There’s no “but” in the matter. I’ll hear of no “buts.” Dismiss this nonsense out of your head, or else dismiss yourself out of this house. Do you hear me, sir? Not another word of it. It shan’t be--I won’t hear of it. Silence, John! Say another word and I’ll turn you out to the street. Cast off my name, who have been your guardian all your life, to take up---- Silence, John! Don’t say another word to me.’ John, indeed, was saying no word. He was gazing at his grandfather with wide-open, astonished eyes. Never in his life had such words been said to him before. He was too much astonished to resent them. When the old man reproached him for his wish to cast off the name which was that of the tender protector, the only father he had really known, compunction came quick to the boy’s heart. That was not what he had intended--it had never entered his thoughts. ‘Grandfather, indeed you do me wrong. I--never thought of that.’ ‘How was it you didn’t think of it? Haven’t we done enough for you, my poor dear and me? What have we not done for you that heart could desire? And now you want to be shut of us, to clear out, to change your name. I am glad she’s out of the way not to see it or to hear of it. I’m glad she’s out of the way.’ ‘Grandfather! don’t, for pity’s sake don’t----’ ‘Pity!’ said the old man--‘you don’t show much for me. I’m settling down, my poor old dear in her grave, and the house desolate, and Emily gone, and nobody left but you and me. And the first day, the very first day when everything’s over, and I’ve got to face the world again alone, that’s the time you choose to tell me that you’re going to make a fuss and disturbance, and take a new name, and set all the village talking. Set ’em talking and inquiring and putting things together. Oh, I’ll not have it. I’ll rather clear out myself and go right away.’