I suppose my countenance must be what is called a “speaking” one, for I had made no reply in words to this statement of a case upon which I and a “London attorney” were to ground measures for wresting a magnificent estate from the clutch of a powerful nobleman, and by “next assizes” too—­when the lady’s beautiful eyes filled with tears, and turning to her child, she murmured in that gentle, agitating voice of hers, “My poor boy.”  The words I was about to utter died on my tongue, and I remained silent for several minutes.  After all, thought I, this lady is evidently sincere in her expressed conviction that Sir Harry Compton was her husband.  If her surmise be correct, evidence of the truth may perhaps be obtained by a keen search for it; and since Sir Jasper guarantees the expenses—­I rang the bell.  “Step over to Cursitor Street,” said I to the clerk as soon as he entered; “and if Mr. Ferret is within, ask him to step over immediately.”  Ferret was just the man for such a commission.  Indefatigable, resolute, sharp-witted, and of a ceaseless, remorseless activity, a secret or a fact had need be very profoundly hidden for him not to reach and fish it up.  I have heard solemn doubts expressed by attorneys opposed to him as to whether he ever really and truly slept at all—­that is, a genuine Christian sleep, as distinguished from a merely canine one, with one eye always half open.  Mr. Ferret had been for many years Mr. Simpkins’ managing clerk; but ambition, and the increasing requirements of a considerable number of young Ferrets, determined him on commencing business on his own account; and about six months previous to the period of which I am now writing, a brass door-plate in Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, informed the public that Samuel Ferret, Esq., Attorney-at-Law, might be consulted within.

Mr. Samuel Ferret was fortunately at home; and after a very brief interval, made his appearance, entering with a short professional bow to me, and a very profound one to the lady, in whom his quick gray eye seemed intuitively to espy a client.  As soon as he was seated, I handed him Sir Jasper’s letter.  He perused it carefully three times, examined the seal attentively, and handed it back with—­“An excellent letter as far as it goes, and very much to the point.  You intend, I suppose, that I should undertake this little affair?”

“Yes, if, after hearing the lady’s case, you feel disposed to venture upon it.”

Mr. Samuel Ferret’s note-book was out in an instant; and the lady, uninterrupted by a syllable from him, re-told her story.

“Good, very good, as far as it goes,” remarked undismayed Samuel Ferret when she concluded; “only it can scarcely be said to go very far.  Moral presumption, which, in our courts unfortunately, isn’t worth a groat.  Never mind. Magna est veritas, and so on.  When, madam, did you say Sir Harry—­Mr. Grainger—­first began to urge emigration?”

“Between two and three years ago.”