A child stood there, with its feet buried in the long skin of the mat, backing closely into the corner for support, half frightened, half defiant. Tears were standing in those great eyes, and hanging on the pale little cheek--the lip was ready to quiver at a moment’s notice; but still he confronted the novel world in which he found himself with a certain defiance. The old lady, who felt all her dreams and hopes suddenly realised at the first glance, went nearer to him, with tremulous excitement, and stooped down over the child. Her whole frame was trembling--a mist obscured her eyes. “Who are you?--who are you?” she cried. “Oh, who are you?” then stopping short as the frightened look got the mastery on the child’s face, and his lip began to quiver, she changed her tone with a wonderful effort, and dropped down upon her knees on the mat to bring herself on a level with him. Lady Eskside saw in the little face more than any one else could see, and knew him, as she said afterwards, at once. “My bonny man!” she cried, “my poor little man, nobody will hurt you. What is your name, and who brought you here? You are safe--quite safe--and nobody will harm you. Who are you, and who brought you here?” The child made a pause--he was struggling proudly against his inclination to cry; and there was breathless silence in the hall as if some great revelation had been about to be made. Then a small whimpering voice, with tears in it, made itself audible, “I am--Val,” it said. Lady Eskside rose up as if by some force which she could not resist. She turned upon Mary Percival, and the group of servants beyond, with uplifted hands, calling their attention imperatively, though for the moment she could not speak. Then her voice broke forth, choked and hoarse, “Val! Mary, you hear, you hear! Did not I know it? Val! Oh, at last, at last!” Then in a moment she stilled herself, and knelt down trembling upon the mat. “My bonnie little man!” she said, her voice trembling, “tell me again. Val--Val what? And, oh, who brought you here?” “Nobody don’t call me nothing but Val,” said the child. “Mammy brought me. Not for no harm. She’s gone back for Dick.” “Ah!” Lady Eskside’s breath seemed to stop. She put out one hand behind her, and plucked blindly at Mary Percival’s dress, to call her close attention. “Your mammy has gone back--for--Dick?” “He’s down at the village,” said the child, keeping his eyes fixed upon her with the watchfulness of terror. “He’s asleep. I’ve got to wait for mammy. She put me in out of the rain. I’ll be good till mammy comes. Oh, don’t let him touch me! I ain’t come for no harm.”