“Yes,” he said, “yea, my children, it is true that God sent us a daughter from the sea and the wreck when He had taken our own little maid to His rest.  But we have ever loved our Cis as well, and hope ever to do so while she is our good child.  Take her, mother, and tell the children how it befell; if I go not down, the fellow will spread it all over the house, and happily none were present save Humfrey and the little maiden.”

Susan put the child down on her own bed, and there, with Humfrey standing by, told the history of the father carrying in the little shipwrecked babe.  They both listened with eyes devouring her, but they were as yet too young to ask questions about evidences, and Susan did not volunteer these, only when the girl asked, “Then, have I no name?” she answered, “A godly minister, Master Heatherthwayte, gave thee the name of Cicely when he christened thee.”

“I marvel who I am?” said Cis, gazing round her, as if the world were all new to her.

“It does not matter,” said Humfrey, “you are just the same to us, is she not, mother?”

“She is our dear Heaven-sent child,” said the mother tenderly.

“But thou art not my true mother, nor Humfrey nor Diccon my brethren,” she said, stretching out her hands like one in the dark.

“If I’m not your brother, Cis, I’ll be your husband, and then you will have a real right to be called Talbot.  That’s better than if you were my sister, for then you would go away, I don’t know where, and now you will always be mine—­mine—­mine very own.”

And as he gave Cis a hug in assurance of his intentions, his father, who was uneasy about the matter, looked in again, and as Susan, with tears in her eyes, pointed to the children, the good man said, “By my faith, the boy has found the way to cut the knot—­or rather to tie it.  What say you, dame?  If we do not get a portion for him, we do not have to give one with her, so it is as broad as it is long, and she remains our dear child.  Only listen, children, you are both old enough to keep a secret.  Not one word of all this matter is to be breathed to any soul till I bid you.”

“Not to Diccon,” said Humfrey decidedly.

“Nor to Antony?” asked Cis wistfully.

“To Antony?  No, indeed!  What has he to do with it?  Now, to your beds, children, and forget all about this tale.”

“There, Humfrey,” broke out Cis, as soon as they were alone together, “Huckstress Tibbott is a wise woman, whatever thou mayest say.”

“How?” said Humfrey.

“Mindst thou not the day when I crossed her hand with the tester father gave me?”

“When mother whipped thee for listening to fortune-tellers and wasting thy substance.  Ay, I mind it well,” said Humfrey, “and how thou didst stand simpering at her pack of lies, ere mother made thee sing another tune.”

“Nay, Humfrey, they were no lies, though I thought them so then.  She said I was not what I seemed, and that the Talbots’ kennel would not always hold one of the noble northern eagles.  So Humfrey, sweet Humfrey, thou must not make too sure of wedding me.”