“Were you and Mrs. Catherick neighbours?” I inquired, leading her memory on as encouragingly as I could.

“Yes, sir⁠—neighbours at Old Welmingham.”

“ Old Welmingham? There are two places of that name, then, in Hampshire?”

“Well, sir, there used to be in those days⁠—better than three-and-twenty years ago. They built a new town about two miles off, convenient to the river⁠—and Old Welmingham, which was never much more than a village, got in time to be deserted. The new town is the place they call Welmingham now⁠—but the old parish church is the parish church still. It stands by itself, with the houses pulled down or gone to ruin all round it. I’ve lived to see sad changes. It was a pleasant, pretty place in my time.”