So Torwood came out.  I was very anxious, of course, and had been hovering about on the nursery stairs, where I had gone to see whether baby was quietly asleep, and I overtook him as he was going down-stairs.

“How is papa?” I asked.

I shall never forget the white look of the face he raised up to mine as he said, “Poor father!  Ursula, I can only call the news terrible.  Will you try to stand up against it bravely?”

And then he held out his arms and gathered me into them, and I believe I said, “I can bear anything when you do that!”

I thought it could only be something about Bertram, who had rather a way of getting into scrapes, and I said his name; but just as Fulk was setting me at ease on that score, Jaquetta, who was on the watch, too, opened the door of the green drawing-room, and we were obliged to go in.  Then, hardly answering her and Emily, as they asked after papa, he stood straight up in the middle of the rug and told us, beginning with—­ “Ursula, did you know that our father had been married as a young man in Canada?”

No.  We had never guessed it.

“He was,” my brother went on, “This is his daughter.”

“Our sister!” Jaquetta asked.  “Where has she been all this time?”

But I saw there must be more to trouble him, and then it came.  “I cannot tell.  My father had every reason to believe that—­she—­his first wife—­had been killed in a massacre by the Red Indians; but if what this person says is true, she only died two years ago.  But it was in all good faith that he married our mother.  He had taken all means to discover—­”

Even then we did not perceive what this involved.  I felt stunned and numbed chiefly from seeing the great shock it had been to my father and to him; but poor little Jaquetta and Emily were altogether puzzled; and Jaquetta said, “But is this sister of ours such a very disagreeable person, Torwood?  Why didn’t you bring her in and show her to us?”

Then he exclaimed, almost angrily at her simplicity, “Good heavens! girls, don’t you see what it all means?  If this is true, I am not Torwood.  We are nothing—­nobody—­nameless.”

He turned to the fire, put both elbows on the mantelshelf, and hid his face in his hands.  Emily sprang up, and tried to draw down his arm; and she did, but he only used it to put her from him, hold her off at arm’s length, and look at her—­oh! with such a tender face of firm sorrow!

“Ah!  Emily,” he said; “you too!  It has been all on false pretences!  That will have to be all over now.”

Then Emily’s great brown eyes grew bigger with wonder and dismay.

“False pretences!” she cried, “what false pretences?  Not that you cared for me, Torwood.”

“Not that I cared for you,” he said, with a suppressed tone that made his voice so deep!  “Not that I cared, but that Lord Torwood did--Torwood is the baby upstairs.”