“That’s a great deal for a person in your station to pay.”

“In my station!  I’d have you to know, young man—­however, I haven’t the heart to quarrel with you, you look so ill; and after all, it is a good sum to pay for one who travels the roads; but if I must have tea, I like to have the best; and tea I must have, for I am used to it, though I can’t help thinking that it sometimes fills my head with strange fancies—­what some folks call vapours, making me weep and cry!”

“Dear me,” said I, “I should never have thought that one of your size and fierceness would weep and cry!”

“My size and fierceness!  I tell you what, young man, you are not over civil, this evening; but you are ill, as I said before, and I shan’t take much notice of your language, at least for the present; as for my size, I am not so much bigger than yourself; and as for being fierce, you should be the last one to fling that at me.  It is well for you that I can be fierce sometimes.  If I hadn’t taken your part against Blazing Bosville, you wouldn’t be now taking tea with me.”

“It is true that you struck me in the face first; but we’ll let that pass.  So that man’s name is Bosville; what’s your own?”

“Isopel Berners.”

“How did you get that name?”

“I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions! will you have another cup of tea?”

“I was just going to ask for another.”

“Well, then, here it is, and much good may it do you; as for my name, I got it from my mother.”

“Your mother’s name, then, was Isopel?”

“Isopel Berners.”

“But had you never a father?”

“Yes, I had a father,” said the girl, sighing, “but I don’t bear his name.”

“It is the fashion, then, in your country for children to bear their mother’s name?”

“If you ask such questions, young man, I shall be angry with you.  I have told you my name, and whether my father’s or mother’s, I am not ashamed of it.”

“It is a noble name.”

“There you are right, young man.  The chaplain in the great house, where I was born, told me it was a noble name; it was odd enough, he said, that the only three noble names in the country were to be found in the great house; mine was one; the other two were Devereux and Bohun.”

“What do you mean by the great house?”

“The workhouse.”

“Is it possible that you were born there?”

“Yes, young man; and as you now speak softly and kindly, I will tell you my whole tale.  My father was an officer of the sea, and was killed at sea as he was coming home to marry my mother, Isopel Berners.  He had been acquainted with her, and had left her; but after a few months he wrote her a letter, to say that he had no rest, and that he repented, and that as soon as his ship came to port he would do her all the reparation in his power.  Well, young man, the very day before they reached port they