If one could slay one's child and bring him to life again after an appropriate interval many of us might be tempted to infanticide. A great flame of anger and shame rose to Elinor's cheek; but Neville came to her assistance.
"Nay, little landlord," he said coolly, "no husband of thy mother could bear thy crest. 'Tis for thee, as the only heir in this generation, to bear it worthily before the world. Mistress Brent, is the ceremony ended?"
"Ay, and most happily," said Mary, nervously, struggling between desire to laugh and cry; "let us have in the cake and wine."
The servants went out to fetch the great trays of oaken wood with rim and handles of silver which had been in the Brent family for generations. As they re-entered in procession,—for Mary Brent dearly loved form and ceremony, and kept it up even here in the wilderness,—a knock was heard at the iron-studded door.
Being flung open it revealed the figure of a man, a tall, slender man with Saxon flaxen hair and true blue eyes.
"Mistress Brent?" he said questioningly, looking from Mary to Elinor.
"I am she," said Mary, stepping forward and holding out her hand with even more than her usual warmth of hospitality. "Can I be of service to you?"
"The question is, rather, are you willing to allow my claim upon your far-famed hospitality?"
"I think it has never yet been denied any one."
"I believe it well, but perhaps no one ever yet claimed it who lay under such a shadow. If you consent in your goodness to shelter a traveller, you must know that you are harboring the brother of Richard Ingle."