Chapter 26 - Page 2

vexed at our littleness of mind in standing still. Nobody heeded him any more than if he had said, "I am starving," but it seemed a rude thing among ladies. Before I had time to think more about this--for I always like to think of things--I was led through a pair of narrow swinging doors, and down a close alley between two counters full of people paying and receiving money. The Major, who always knew how to get on, found a white-haired gentleman in a very dingy corner, and whispered to him in a confidential way, though neither had ever seen the other before, and the white-haired gentleman gazed at me as sternly as if I were a bank-note for at least a thousand pounds; and then he said, "Step this way, young lady. Major Hockin, step this way, Sir."

The young lady "stepped that way" in wonder as to what English English is, and then we were shown into a sacred little room, where the daylight had glass reflectors for it, if it ever came to use them. But as it cared very little to do this, from angular disabilities, three bright gas-lights were burning in soft covers, and fed the little room with a rich, sweet glow. And here shone one of the partners of the bank, a very pleasant-looking gentleman, and very nicely dressed.

"Major Hockin," he said, after looking at the card, "will you kindly sit down, while I make one memorandum? I had the pleasure of knowing your uncle well--at least I believe that the late Sir Rufus was your uncle."

"Not so," replied the Major, well pleased, however. "I fear that I am too old to have had any uncle lately. Sir Rufus Hockin was my first cousin."

"Oh, indeed! To be sure, I should have known it, but Sir Rufus being much your senior, the mistake was only natural. Now what can I do to serve you, or perhaps this young lady--Miss Hockin, I presume?"

"No," said his visitor, "not Miss Hockin. I ought to have introduced her, but for having to make my own introduction. Mr. Shovelin, this lady is Miss Erema Castlewood, the only surviving child of the late Captain George Castlewood, properly speaking, Lord Castlewood."

Mr. Shovelin had been looking at me with as much curiosity as good manners and his own particular courtesy allowed. And I fancied that he felt that I could not be a Hockin.

"Oh, dear, dear me!" was all he said, though he wanted to say, "God bless me!" or something more sudden and stronger. "Lord Castlewood's daughter--poor George Castlewood! My dear young lady, is it possible?"

"Yes, I am my father's child," I said; "and I am proud to hear that I am like him."

"That you well may be," he answered, putting on his spectacles. "You are astonished at my freedom, perhaps; you will allow for it, or at least, you will not be angry with me, when you know that your