Lewis eyed him curiously, for there was an odd resemblance to his father in the man’s voice and appearance, which suggested to his mind the fanciful idea that he might be a poor relation, who had been studiously kept in the background all this while, and whose very existence was unknown to him. It would be just like his father to be ashamed of a poor kinsman, Lewis thought; but the resemblance was not strong enough to afford any real reason for the fancy thus conjured up. ‘Ladywell Manor—yes, certainly, you can get to it this way; but the field-paths are rather intricate, and you would most likely stray. If you’ll walk to the end of the field with me, I can put you into a much more direct way of finding it.’ ‘Thank you, sir,’ said the man, and turned back readily. ‘I’ve just come from Ladywell,’ remarked Lewis, inwardly wondering what could be the man’s business there. ‘It’s a fine old place.’ ‘Yes, sir? I’m a stranger in these parts. I come from Whitbury; it is Miss Marjory Descartes that I’ve come to see. She’s our great lady at Whitbury.’ ‘Ah,’ said Lewis, his first faint impression dying away; ‘she’s a great lady, I fancy, wherever she goes.’ ‘Like enough, sir,’ answered the other; and they walked on in silence. As they reached the road, two friends of Lewis’s rode by. ‘How do, Belassis?’ said one. ‘Morning, Belassis,’ said the other. Then the strange man turned and looked at him. ‘Is your name Belassis, sir?’ ‘Yes, certainly.’ Lewis’s first suspicion woke again into new life. ‘So is mine,’ said the man—‘Alfred Belassis.’ ‘Why, I thought there was something of a Belassis look about you,’ said Lewis heartily, for he was not a cad, and was above coldshouldering a poor relation. ‘Shake hands; I fancy we are some sort of cousins. I’ll walk your way, and we’ll find out.’ ‘Well, sir,’ said the man slowly, ‘if you’re the son of Mr. Alfred Belassis of these parts, maybe I’d best walk your way, and see him.’ ‘You are a relation of ours, then?’ ‘Yes, sir; and I’m afraid, perhaps, a nearer one than you’ll quite relish.’ Lewis laughed good-naturedly. ‘Never mind my father—he always was a growler, as I dare say you know; but so far as I am concerned, you will be very welcome.’ ‘Thank you, sir; you mean kindly, I see, only you don’t know yet who I am.’ ‘No, I don’t; but I wish you’d tell me.’ ‘Well, sir, I’m your half-brother—if you want to know.’ ‘My—half—brother!’ ‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid you won’t like it; but I’ve not come here to force myself upon you, or make myself unpleasant. I’ve got a word to say to my father, whom I never knew; and when I’ve said it, I’ll go. He’ll be glad of my message, even if he isn’t glad to see his own son.’ ‘My half-brother!’ repeated Lewis once more, with even greater astonishment. ‘Yes, sir; Mr. Alfred Belassis married my mother before he married yours.’ ‘I never knew he had a first wife! I don’t believe anyone knew.’