"Oh, I remember," he suddenly exclaimed. "So you have her here, Charley!"
"Who here?"
"Leah."
"Leah! What do you mean?"
"That servant of yours."
"That is our messenger's wife: Mrs. Watts."
"Mrs. Watts she may be now, for aught I know; but she was Leah Williams when we were youngsters, Charley."
"Impossible, Tom. This old woman cannot be Leah."
"I tell you, lad, it is Leah," he persisted. "No mistake about it. At the first moment I did not recollect her. I have a good eye for faces, but she is wonderfully altered. Do you mean to say she has not made herself known to you?"
I shook my head. But even as Tom spoke, little items of remembrance that had worried my brain began to clear themselves bit by bit. Mrs. Watts came in with the milk.