"Is any one wanting me?" asked Silas, rising and going forth from his cottage, for in that quiet spot every word spoken had been heard in the dwelling.
Instead of replying, the gentleman opened the door of the chaise and got out.
"I thought, from the description given me, that this must be the place, Sharp," said he to a younger man who directly followed him.
Mytton looked a little surly, like an Englishman who feels that his cottage is his castle, and wishes to know on what errand strangers come, before he welcomes or admits them.
"Have you any business with me, sir?" he inquired.
"I have a little business, my good man, which can best be transacted within doors. My name is Garway—I am from London. Can I have a little talk with you?" asked the gentleman.
And, taking Mytton's silence for consent, he and his companion entered the cottage, followed by Silas and the wondering group of his children.
"Pray don't disturb yourself—an invalid, I fear," said Mr. Garway, motioning courteously to Amy, who had attempted to rise on his entrance to offer one of the strangers her chair.
The lawyers, for such they were, then seated themselves on high wooden stools which Mytton had made himself, and the younger man produced, to the surprise of the children, not only a large pocket-book, but an ink-bottle and steel pen, and pushing aside the fragments of bread and cheese on the table, placed his writing materials upon it, evidently preparing to take notes. This looked like business indeed.
"Can you inform me," said Mr. Garway to Silas, "whether you are in any way, however remotely, connected with the ancient family of the Myttons of Oaklands, in Shropshire."