‘What was that?’ she demanded curiously.
‘Do you remember the packet of letters you threw me to read when we last said good-bye, and you had to run off to attend to some woolly infant or other?’
‘Yes, yes, I remember. It was Mammy Chloe’s baby,’ she answered, laughing.
‘The first letter I opened surprised me more than anything has ever done in my life before. It was from your late father to Mr Courtney, and he signed himself “Herbert Ruthin,” and wrote in familiar terms of his father and mother, Sir William and Lady Ruthin, and of their place in Scotland—Aberdare.’
‘Well, well! of course; it was his own home,’ interrupted Lizzie impatiently. ‘Why should it have so greatly surprised you?’
‘Because, Lizzie, my mother (whose maiden name was Mary Herbert) is a second or third cousin of Lady Ruthin, and when her ladyship came to Maidstone, which is close to mother’s home, a few years ago, she called on us, and took dinner at the cottage.’
‘Oh, Hugh, how very, very strange!’ cried Lizzie, forgetting etiquette in her breathless surprise.
‘Yes, it is only another proof of how small the world is, and how we are all but one large family. I remembered Lady Ruthin’s visit to my mother distinctly, and also that I had heard she had had great trouble about her second son Herbert, but I fancied he was dead. When I learnt the truth from those letters, I determined to see Sir William and Lady Ruthin on my return to England, and I did so.’
‘You did!’ echoed Lizzie; ‘and, oh! what did they say?’
‘I was only at Aberdare two hours, dearest,’ replied Captain Norris, growing bolder as he gained his advantage, ‘but it was long enough to serve my purpose. I told them everything, Lizzie,—what a good life your dear father had lived here, expiating his youthful error by a course of self-abnegation, and how like a martyr he had died, stricken down by the exhaustion consequent on his labours for others. And I soon found that if their pride and mortification have prevented their speaking of their lost son for so many years past, it has not been because the love of him has faded from their hearts. They concluded he was dead long ago, but as I spoke of him, they were both melted into tears, and reproached themselves bitterly for not having employed stronger measures to ascertain his fate.’