"Don't tell her, Mrs. Perage."
"Why not. Hum!"--her eyes were as piercing as spears--"there is some reason for you masquerading as Hench."
"Hench was the name adopted by my father, and until a few days ago I quite believed that it was my true name. But certain papers which he left with our family lawyers explained matters."
"Did they explain that you inherit Cookley Grange and ten thousand a year?"
"Yes."
"Hum!"--Mrs. Perage rubbed her nose again and looked puzzled. "Then, knowing that you were the heir, why did you not come and see your uncle after the death of your father? I know he died in Paris five years ago, as Madoc told me."
"I did not know that I was the heir until my twenty-fifth birthday on the tenth day of this month. My father left instructions with Gilberry & Gilberry that they were not to give the papers to me until then. I have already told you, Mrs. Perage, that only lately did I learn my true name."
The old dame nodded absently, thinking deeply for a few minutes. "I think your father was wise to keep you thus in ignorance until you were older and had some experience of the world. A man of twenty-five could have managed Madoc better than a boy of twenty. Yes, Owain was wise, knowing Madoc's character."
"The late Squire does not appear to have had a very good one," remarked Hench dryly. "He was unpopular, I am told by Mrs. Bell."
"He was a wicked, selfish, greedy, miserly old scoundrel," retorted Mrs. Perage, aggressively blunt. "And if that's speaking evil of the dead, I don't care. I am quite sure that Madoc fed your grandfather's anger when it was directed towards Owain, who, after all, was not so very evil, although selfish enough. Still, your father would never have been cut out of the will but for Madoc. And if Madoc had met you, young man, he would have tried to settle your hash in some way, you may be certain."