"You're a stranger, aren't you?" she said. "You don't belong to these parts?"
"Quite a stranger," I answered, "or I shouldn't have been so foolish as to attempt what I was attempting." I gave her a brief account of what I had been after. "So you see how lucky I am to be saved, as you have saved me! And please allow me to introduce myself—my name's Alvery Craye, and I come from London."
"London!" she exclaimed, wonderingly. "Where I have never been! My name—you'll think it a curious one—is Madrasia—Madrasia Durham. Did you ever hear such a queer name as Madrasia?"
"Never!" said I. "How did you get it?"
"Born in Madras," she answered. "My father was a merchant there. Mr. Parslewe, my guardian, with whom I live here, was his partner. They died—my father and mother, I mean—when I was little, so Mr. Parslewe has looked after me ever since. We came to England three years ago, and Mr. Parslewe bought this old place, and fitted it up. Do you like it?"
"From what I've seen of it, immensely," I
