“It was--Martuccia,” said the boy, with precocious discretion. His look grew more and more inquisitive and investigating. Now that he had the opportunity he determined to examine the old man well and to make out the kind of person he was. Mr. Musgrave did not answer. He on his side was investigating too, with less keenness and more feeling than the child showed. He would have been unmoved by the beauty of Lilias, though it was much greater than that of Nello. The little girl would have irritated him; but with the boy he felt himself safe, he could not tell how; he was more a child, less a stranger. Mr. Musgrave himself could not have explained it, but so it was. A desire to get nearer to his descendant came into the old man’s mind; old recollections crept upon him, and stole away all his strength. “You know who I am; do you know who you are, little fellow?” he asked, with a strange break in his voice. “I told you; you are--the old gentleman at home,” said Nello. “I know all about it. And me? I am John. There is no wonder about that. It is just--me. We were not always here. We are two children who have come a long way. But now I know English quite well, and I have lessons every day.” “Who gives you lessons, my little boy?” The Squire drew a step nearer. He had himself had a little brother sixty years ago, who was like Nello. So it seemed to him now. He would not think he had likewise had a son thirty years ago, whom Nello was like. He crept a little nearer the child, shuffling his foot along the turf, concealing the approach from himself. Had he been asked why he changed his position, he would have said it was a little damp, boggy, not quite sure footing just there. “Mr. Pen gives us lessons,” said Nello. “I have a book all to myself. It is Latin, it is more easy than English. But it takes a great deal of time; it does not leave so much for play.” “How long have you been at your lessons, my little man?” The Squire’s eyes began to soften, a smile came into them. His heart was melting. He gave a furtive glance round, and there was nobody near to make him afraid, not even the little girl. “Oh, a long, long time,” said Nello. “One whole hour, it was as much as that, or perhaps six hours. I did not think anything could be so long.” “One whole hour!” the Squire said in a voice of awe; and his eyes melted altogether into smiling, and his voice into a mellow softness which it had not known for years. Ah! this was the kind of son for an old man to have, not such as Randolph. Randolph was a hard, disagreeable equal, superior in so much as he had, or thought he had, many more years before him; but the child was delightful. He did the Squire good. “Or perhaps six hours! And when did this long spell of study happen? Is it long ago?”