J.G.
“That’s very odd,” said Albert. “Sir Francis Hartleton is a great man. The king knighted him lately, I heard, and he is a magistrate. This is quite a mystery, my dear Harry. I dare say you are some prince, really.”
Harry looked up with a beaming smile in the face of his young friend, as he said,—
“Be I who or what I may, I shall never forget Albert Seyton.”
“You have a good heart, Harry,” cried Albert, throwing his arm affectionately round his young friend’s neck, “and when my father gets his own again, I will get him to ask your uncle to let you stay with us.”
“That would be joy,” said Harry, clasping his hands—“oh, such joy!”
“You are a little delicate thing, you know,” continued Albert, “and you want somebody to take care you are not affronted nor imposed upon; and woe to anybody who dared so much as to—”
The door was at this moment suddenly flung open, and, livid with rage, Jacob Gray stood on the threshold.
Harry gave a faint cry of alarm, and Albert started to his feet from kneeling by the box, and boldly confronted Gray.
“So,” cried Gray, striding into the room, and shutting the door violently behind him—“so, it is thus I find you engaged!”