“Where is that son?” asked Sir John, incredulously.

“At Lincoln.  I can send for him.  You can go there and see him; he is under the care of Sarah Smith, my nurse.  He is living and well, and he, not Mr. Edgar, is the heir of Crown Anstey.”

“But why,” asked Sir John, incredulously, “why have you never told this story before?  It seems incredible that you should have waited until now.”

“I have my own reasons,” she replied.  “I waited first to see what Sir Edgar would be like; then, when I saw him—­I—­I need not be ashamed to own it, even before Miss Thesiger—­I liked him, and if he had been reasonable I should never have told my story at all.”

“That is,” said Sir John, with supreme disgust, “if Edgar had been duped by you and had married you, you would have defrauded your son of his rights?”

“Yes,” she replied, with a smile; “it is Crown Anstey I love, and I would rather be the wife than the mother of the master of Crown Anstey.”

“You are a wicked woman,” he said, sternly.

“I am a successful one,” she retorted.  “Pray, Sir John, examine all these proofs at your earliest convenience; I am anxious to take my place as mistress of my own house; I am anxious to have my child here in his own home.”

We all rose; no words can express my emotions.  It was not the fortune, God knows—­not the fortune; but I knew when I lost that I lost Agatha.

I felt my face growing white as death itself and my hands trembled.

“One moment,” I said.  “A year ago the doctor told me if my sister kept up her strength, and had nothing to make her either anxious nor unhappy, she would in all probability recover.  Now, whether this story be true or false, I pray you all, for God’s sake, keep it from her!”

“I shall not mention it,” said Coralie.

“Do not despair, Edgar,” said Sir John.  “I do not believe—­I never shall!”

“I wrote to London last night,” continued Coralie, “for Mr. Dempster, who was Sir Barnard’s lawyer on one or two occasions.  You, of course, Mr. Edgar Trevelyan, will retain the services of the family solicitors.”

“I shall need no solicitors if your story be true.  I shall not seek to defraud Miles’ son of his birthright; I shall yield it to him.”

“You will find it true in every particular,” she said; “and remember always that it is your own fault I have told it.”

With that parting shot she quitted the room.

“My poor boy,” said Sir John, “this is a terrible blow to you.”

“I am afraid,” said Lady Thesiger, “that this abominable woman has spoken the truth.  I always thought poor Miles had something on his mind—­some secret.  I told him so one day, and he did not deny it.”

My darling came up to me with her sweet, pale face and outstretched hands.

“Never mind, Edgar,” she said.  “If you lose Crown Anstey I will try to love you all the more to make up for it.”