"Where is my mother?" he added, regarding the knight with a searching glance. "Right," said the Master, "I didn't think of her. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. Very well. Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it. Under the circumstances you must permit me to be the best judge of the identity of the young lady who did me the honour, as an old family friend, of dining with me. " "Don't worry about that. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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