"If I understood the name aright--Anthony Castlemaine--you must be, I presume, some relative of my late grandfather's, sir?" she said at length.
He introduced himself fully then; who he was, and all about it. Mary Ursula met his hand cordially. She never doubted him or his identity for a moment. She had the gift of reading countenances; and she took to the pleasant, honest face at once, so like the Castlemaines in features, but with a more open expression.
"I am sure you are my cousin," she said, in cordial welcome. "I think I should have known you for a Castlemaine had I seen your face in a crowd."
"I see, myself, how like I am to the Castlemaines, especially to my father and grandfather: though unfortunately I have not inherited their height and strength," he added, with a slight laugh. "My mother was small and slight: I take after her."
"And my poor uncle Basil is dead!"
"Alas, yes! Only a few weeks ago. These black clothes that I wear are in memorial of him."
"I never saw him," said Miss Castlemaine, gazing at the familiar--for indeed it seemed familiar--face before her, and tracing out its features. "But I have heard say my uncle Basil was just the image of his father."
"And he was," said Anthony. "When I saw the picture of my grandfather yesterday at Greylands' Rest, I thought it was my father's hanging there."
It was a long while since Miss Castlemaine had met with anyone she liked so well at a first interview as this young man; and the quarter of an hour passed quickly. At its end the servant again appeared, saying his master would see him in his private room. So he took leave of Mary Ursula, and was conducted to it.
But, as it seemed, Mr. Peter Castlemaine did not wait to receive him: for almost immediately he presented himself before his daughter.