"Only I, Mr. Halifax—don't be angry with me."
It was the softest, mildest voice—the voice of one long used to oppression; and the young man whom Ursula had supposed to be a Catholic appeared from behind the loom.
"I do not know you, sir. How came you to enter my mill?"
"I followed Mrs. Halifax. I have often watched her and your children. But you don't remember me."
Yes; when he came underneath the light of the one tallow candle, we all recognized the face—more wan than ever—with a sadder and more hopeless look in the large grey eyes.
"I am surprised to see you here, Lord Ravenel."
"Hush! I hate the very sound of the name. I would have renounced it long ago. I would have hid myself away from him and from the world, if he would have let me."
"He—do you mean your father?"
The boy—no, he was a young man now, but scarcely looked more than a boy—assented silently, as if afraid to utter the name.
"Would not your coming here displease him?" said John, always tenacious of trenching a hair's breadth upon any lawful authority.