"But you have not mentioned the name of this lady, Jacob?" interrupted Tom Rain.
"I did not think it was worth while, sir—as she used me very well——"
"Still I have a very particular reason for wishing to be informed on that head," said the highwayman.
"Oh! if that's the case, I shall not hesitate," replied Jacob. "The name of that lady was Mrs. Slingsby."
"I thought so from the very first moment you began to speak of her!" cried Tom. "And the name of the gentleman—did you learn that?"
"Yes, sir," answered the lad: "I heard the servants talking about him, when I was in the kitchen. His name was—let me see?—Oh! yes—I remember—Sir Henry Courtenay."
"Thank you, Jacob," exclaimed Tom: then, in a low, musing tone, he said, "Poor Clarence! you are woefully deceived in your saint of an aunt!"
"Shall I continue my story, Mr. Rainford?" asked Jacob. "It will not last much longer now."
"By all means go on, my boy. I would sit here till day-light, sooner than miss the end."
Thus encouraged, Jacob continued in the following manner.