But now it was different.

For he and Alice had the weight on their bosoms of being thieves without having meant it--and nothing, not even pigs, had power to charm the young but honourable Oswald till that stain had been wiped away.
So he took Alice to the Secretary of the Maidstone Antiquities' house, and Mr Turnbull was out, but the maid-servant kindly told us where the President lived, and ere long the trembling feet of the unfortunate brother and sister vibrated on the spotless gravel of Camperdown Villa.
When they asked, they were told that Mr Longchamps was at home.

Then they waited, paralysed with undescribed emotions, in a large room with books and swords and glass bookcases with rotten-looking odds and ends in them.

Mr Longchamps was a collector.

That means he stuck to anything, no matter how ugly and silly, if only it was old.
He came in rubbing his hands, and very kind.