A knock at the door had disturbed the reflections. Mr. Castlemaine let fall his coat tails, which he had then caught up, and turned his head to it. A man servant appeared.
"Commodore Teague wants to know, sir, whether he may get those two or three barrow-loads of wood moved to the Hutt to-day. He'd like to, he says, if it's convenient."
"Yes, he can have it done. Is he here, Miles?"
"Yes, sir; he is waiting in the yard."
"I'll come and speak to him."
And the Master of Greylands, taking the two letters from the side-table, left the room to descend, shutting the door behind him.
We must turn for a few minutes to the Dolphin Inn, and to the previous evening. Nothing could well have exceeded John Bent's consternation when his guest, the unknown stranger, had revealed his name. Anthony Castlemaine! Not quite at first, but after a short interval, the landlord saw how it must be--that he was the son of the late Basil Castlemaine. And he was not the best pleased to hear it in the moment's annoyance.
"You ought to have told me, sir," he stammered in his confusion. "It was unkind to take me at a disadvantage. Here have I been using liberties with the family's name, supposing I was talking to an utter stranger!"
The frank expression of the young man's face, the pleasant look in his fine brown eyes, tended to reassure the landlord, even better than words.
"You have not said a syllable of my family that I could take exception to," he freely said. "You knew my father: will you shake hands with me, John Bent, as his son?"