James Cheeseman," he answered, but not
with the alacrity of business. "All things good that are in season, and
nothing kept unseasonable. With what can I have the honor of serving
you, sir?"

"With a little talk." The stranger's manner was not unpleasantly
contemptuous, but lofty, and such as the English shopman loves, and
calls "aristocratic."

"To talk with a gentleman is a pleasure as well as an honour," said
Cheeseman.

"But not in this public establishment." The visitor waved both hands as
he spoke, in a style not then common with Englishmen--though they are
learning eloquent gesticulation now. "It is fine, Mr. Cheeseman; but it
is not--bah, I forget your English words."

"It is fine, sir, as you are good enough to observe"--the humble James
Cheeseman was proud of his shop--"but not, as you remarked, altogether
private. That can hardly be expected, where business is conducted to
suit universal requirements. Polly, my dear, if your mother can spare
you, come and take my place at the desk a few minutes. I have business
inside with this gentleman. You may sell almost anything, except butter.
If any one wants that, they must wait till I come back."

A very pretty damsel, with a cap of foreign lace both adorning and
adorned by her beautiful bright hair, came shyly from a little door
behind the counter, receiving with a quick blush the stranger's earnest
gaze, and returning with a curtsey the courteous flourish of his
looped-up riding-hat. "What a handsome gentleman!" said Polly to
herself; "but there is something very sad and very wild in his
appearance." Her father's conclusion was the same, and his heart misgave
him as he led in this unexpected guest.

"There is no cause for apologies. This place is a very good one,"
the stranger replied, laying down his heavy whip on the table of a
stone-floored room, to which he had been shown. "You are a man of
business, and I am come upon dry business. You can conjecture--is it not
so?--who I am by this time, although I am told that I do not bear any
strong resemblance to my father."

He took off his hat as he spoke, shook back his long black hair, and
fixed his jet-black eyes upon Cheeseman. That upright dealer had not
recovered his usual self-possession yet, but managed to look up--for he
was shorter by a head than his visitor--with a doubtful and enquiring
smile.

"I am Caryl Carne, of Carne Castle, as you are pleased to call it. I
have not been in England these man