"'Warren Randall Darrell,' replied I.
"As if he had been struck, the old man loosened his hold and recoiled; and I, seizing the opportunity, darted off, but only to find myself in the grasp of a servant who stood holding the horses.
"'Not so fast, my little shaver,' said he, grinning; 'just you wait till Mr. Randall's done with you.'
"'Mr. Randall!' repeated I, and instantly a sort of conviction flashed across my mind that he might be my grandfather.
"At the same instant the old man approached me, and catching me by the arm, gazed long and steadily into my face, plainly revealed by the light of a street-lamp. I looked up in his agitated face quite as unflinchingly, and so we stood for nearly five minutes, to the great bewilderment of the coachman, who stared first at one and then the other, as if he thought we had both lost our senses.
"'Tell me,' said the old man, after a pause, 'what was your mother's maiden name?'
"'Alice Randall,' said I, my suspicion becoming certainty; 'and you are my grandfather.'
"'What!' he exclaimed, with a start. 'Do you know me? Who told you I was?'
"'No one,' said I; 'but I think so. My grandfather's name is Warren Randall, and that is the name on your door-plate there. I was called after him.'
"'You are right,' said he, in an agitated voice. 'I am your grandfather. My poor Alice! You have her eyes, boy—the same eyes that once made the light of my home. Where—tell me where is she now?'