t make a row."

He went. A minute later we heard a hoarse squeak from Martha--the one
she always gives when suddenly collared from behind--and a little squeal
in a lady-like voice, and a man say "Hallo!" and then we knew that H. O.
had once more rushed in where angels might have thought twice about it.
We hurried to the fatal spot, but it was too late. We were just in time
to hear H. O. say:

[Illustration: "ARE YOU GOING TO MARRY THE LADY?"]

"I'm sorry if she frightened you. But we've been looking for you. Are
you Albert's uncle's long-lost grandmother?"

"_No_," said our lady, unhesitatingly.

It seemed vain to add seven more agitated actors to the scene now going
on. We stood still. The man was standing up. He was a clergyman, and I
found out afterwards he was the nicest we ever knew, except our own Mr.
Bristow at Lewisham, who is now a canon, or a dean, or something grand
that no one ever sees. At present I did not like him. He said: "No, this
lady is nobody's grandmother. May I ask in return how long it is since
you escaped from the lunatic asylum, my poor child, and where your
keeper is?"

H. O. took no notice of this at all, except to say: "I think you are
very rude, and not at all funny, if you think you are."

The lady said: "My dear, I remember you now perfectly. How are all the
others, and are you pilgrims again to-day?"

H. O. does not always answer questions. He turned to the man and said:

"Are you going to marry the lady?"

"Margaret," said the clergyman, "I never thought it would come to this:
he asks me my intentions!"

"If you _are_," said H. O., "it's all right; because if you do, Albert's
uncle can't--at least, not till you're dead. And we don't want him to."

"Flattering, upon my word," said the clergyman, putting on a deep frown.
"Shall I call him out, Margaret, for his poor opinion of you, or shall I
send for the police?"

Alice now saw that H. O., though firm, was getting muddled and rather
scared. She broke cover and sprang into the middle of the scene.

"Don't let him rag H. O. any more," she said, "it's all our faults. You
see, Albert's uncle was so anxious to find you, we thought perhaps you
were his long-lost heiress sister or his old nurse who alone knew the
secret of his birth, or something, and we asked him, and he said you
were his long-lost grandmother he had known in India. And we thought
that must be a mistake and that really you were his long-lost
sweetheart. And we