Vyner now turned to look at the child, who all this while stood calm and composed, amazed, it is true, by all he saw around him, yet never suffering his curiosity to surprise him into a word of astonishment. In age from ten to twelve, he was slightly though strongly built, and carried himself erect as a soldier. The dress which Vyner at first thought was entirely made of skins was only in reality trimmed with these, being an attempt to make the clothes he had long worn sufficiently large for him. His cap alone was of true island make, and was a conical contrivance of undressed seal-skin, which really had as savage a look as need be.
“Do you live on this island, my little fellow?” asked Vyner, with a kindly accent.
“Yes,” said he, calmly, as he looked up full into his face.
“And have you always lived here?”
“So long as I remember.”
“Where do you live?”
“On the other side of the mountain—at St. Finbar’s Abbey.”
“May I ask your name?”
“My name,” said the boy, proudly, “is Harry Grenville Luttrell.”
“Are you a Luttrell?” cried Vyner, as he laid his hand affectionately on the boy’s shoulders; but the little fellow seemed not to like the familiarity, and stepped back to escape it.