"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. " "No.
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