dinner with the other boys in the Foundling, and of all that had followed
in his innocently communicative way. "My poor mother could never have
discovered me," he added, "if she had not met with one of the matrons who
pitied her. The matron consented to touch the boy whose name was 'Walter
Wilding' as she went round the dinner-tables--and so my mother discovered
me again, after having parted from me as an infant at the Foundling
doors."

At those words Mrs. Goldstraw's hand, resting on the table, dropped
helplessly into her lap. She sat, looking at her new master, with a face
that had turned deadly pale, and with eyes that expressed an unutterable
dismay.

"What does this mean?" asked the wine-merchant. "Stop!" he cried. "Is
there something else in the past time which I ought to associate with
you? I remember my mother telling me of another person at the Foundling,
to whose kindness she owed a debt of gratitude. When she first parted
with me, as an infant, one of the nurses informed her of the name that
had been given to me in the institution. You were that nurse?"

"God forgive me, sir--I was that nurse!"

"God forgive you?"

"We had better get back, sir (if I may make so bold as to say so), to my
duties in the house," said Mrs. Goldstraw. "Your breakfast-hour is
eight. Do you lunch, or dine, in the middle of the day?"

The excessive pinkness which Mr. Bintrey had noticed in his client's face
began to appear there once more. Mr. Wilding put his hand to his head,