On a footman answering the bell, Harry handed him his card, "Major H.Lindsay." He was shown into a library and, a minute later, a gentleman entered.

He was about sixty years of age, of the best type of English squire; tall, inclined to be portly, with genial face and hearty voice.
"We are of the same name, I see, Major Lindsay." "We are, sir; and, strange as it may appear to you, of the same blood." "Indeed!" he said, shaking hands with his visitor.

"What is the relationship?
It must be a distant one, for I was not aware that I had any connection of your rank in the army.
"By the way, now that I think of it, I have seen, in the reports of our campaigns in India, the name of a Captain Lindsay frequently mentioned." "I am the man, sir." "I am glad to know that one who has so distinguished himself is a relation of mine, however distant." "It is not so very distant, sir.

In point of fact, I am your nephew." The squire looked at him in bewilderment.
"My nephew!" he repeated.
"Yes, Mr.Lindsay.I am the son of your brother, also Major Lindsay, of the Bombay Army.

I returned from India but ten days ago; and learned for the first time, from the governors of the Company, the family to which my father belonged.