"Yes."
"But you are not a native of this new land?"
"No; I was born in England."
"And your parents?"
Norman blushed crimson. "I never knew my parents," he said.
Barbara Stafford blushed also: she had given pain, yet that very fact deepened her interest in the youth.
"Forgive me, but you have not been reared without care; some one must have taken great interest in you."
"It may be so, but I never have been able to find that person out; my education went on as a matter of course; a lawyer of London paid the bills, gave me lots of advice, but refused me the least information regarding myself. When I had gone through the different grades of study thought requisite for a gentleman, the old barrister deposited a couple of thousand pounds in the hands of Sir William Phipps, which he told me was my entire patrimony, and sent me out here as secretary to the governor. In Sir William Phipps's house, I have known for the first time in my life what the word home meant."
Barbara looked earnestly at the youth as he gave this brief account of himself, but she made no further observation, for they had reached the streets of Boston, and from the novelty of the scene, or some deeper cause, she grew silent and walked forward with a reluctant, heavy step, apparently forgetful of the questions she had been asking.