The man smiled grimly.
“It is well,” he said; “there is no contamination here—the blood is true to itself yet—I will leave you now!”
“No, no, not till you tell me of my mother,” I cried, wild with the dread of losing this clue to my history.
“Not here, it is impossible,” was his answer. “You have that black pony yet?”
“Yes.”
“And are no coward? not afraid of the dark?”
“No.”
“After nightfall come to yonder old house.”
“What, Marston Court?”
“Yes, I will be there!”