“Of whose death?”
“Of the death of Oswald Louvaine, of Selwick Hall.”
There was a cry from Edith—“O David, can you possibly mean—is Selwick come back to us?”
“Oswald Louvaine died unwedded, and hath left no will. His heir-at-law is my cousin Aubrey here.”
“May the Lord help him to use it wisely!” said his grandmother, with emotion.
“Amen!” said David, heartily. “And now, Madam, as I have not stolen the spoons, may I let somebody else in, that I left round the corner?—whom, perchance, you may care rather to see than me.”
“Prithee bring whom thou wilt, David; there shall be an hearty welcome for him.”
“Well, I rather guess there will be,” said David, as he walked out of the parlour. “Dear heart, but who is talking fast enough to shame a race-horse?”
“Well, now, you don’t say so!” was what met David’s ear as he unlatched the gate of the White Bear. “And you’ve come from Camberwell, you say? Well, that’s a good bit o’ walking, and I dare be bound you’re weary. I’d—”
“I cry you mercy,—Cumberland,” said a silvery voice in amused tones.