The lawyer then took down what particulars Will could give him of his early history. When he returned a week later the lawyer gave him a cordial reception.
“I congratulate you, Mr. Gilmore,” he said. “The head of the family carrying those arms is Sir Ralph Gilmore, one of our oldest baronets. He has no male issue. He had one son who died six years ago. There was another son, a younger one, of whom there is no record. He may be alive and he may be dead; that is not known. It is, of course, possible that you were stolen as a child by your reputed father, and that he gave you the family name in order that when the time came he could produce you, but of course that is all guesswork. When you return from sea again I will set people to work to trace, if possible, the wanderings of this person; but as I said, this will take time, and as you will be going to sea in a fortnight the matter can very well stand over. So long as you are on board a ship your parentage can make very little difference to you.”
Will had still a fortnight of his leave remaining. He wandered about London for a couple of days, but he found it rather dull now that he had finished his business, as he had no friends in town. On the second day he was walking along one of the fashionable streets of Bloomsbury, considering whether he should not go down by the next coach to Portsmouth, where he was sure of meeting friends, [pg 318]when a carriage passed him, drawn by a pair of fine horses. A young lady who was sitting in it happened to notice him. She glanced at him carelessly at first, and then with great interest. She stopped the carriage before it had gone many yards, and when Will came up, looked at him closely. “Excuse me, sir,” she said as he was passing; “but are you not Mr. Gilmore?” Greatly surprised he replied in the affirmative.
“I thought so!” she exclaimed. “Do you not remember me?”
He looked at her hard. “Why—why,” he hesitated, “surely it is not—”
“But it is!” she cried. “I am Alice Palethorpe!”
“Miss Palethorpe!” he exclaimed, grasping the hand she held out. “Is it possible?”
“Not Miss Palethorpe,” she said. “To you I am Alice, as I was nearly four years ago. Get into the carriage. My father will be delighted to see you. We have talked of you so often. He made enquiries at the Admiralty when he came home, but found that you were a prisoner in France, and he has been trying to get your name down in the list of those to be exchanged, but he had so little interest that he could not succeed, and, indeed, for the past two years no exchange had taken place.”
By this time he was in the carriage, and they were driving rapidly along the busy streets. Presently they stopped before a large house in Bedford Square.
“This is our home, for the present at any rate,” she said. “Now come in.”