She looked slightly embarrassed, the fact being that she had quite lost her fear of him, and was only pondering now upon what she should do to get him away. It would never do for Lord Vivianne to return and find him there; there would be a quarrel, to say the least of it. Besides, Lord Charles was not the most patient of men. What would he do if he heard this nonsense about Earle claiming her? She had no idea of going back with Earle--sooner or later she would tell him so. It was very awkward for her, and she heartily wished she had never seen him. She had no idea, even ever so faint, of going back to Brackenside. She resolved that while he was talking she would settle her future plan of action. At first she hardly listened to him, then by degrees his words began to have a strong, weird interest for her. "Doris," he said, "I think I have brought the strangest message that one human being ever brought to another. Give me your full attention." She turned her beautiful face to his, thinking that he was going to say something about love or marriage. Far different were the next words that fell upon her ear. "Doris," he said, "you have always believed yourself to be the daughter of Mark and Patty Brace, have you not?" "Yes," she replied, wonderingly, "what else could I believe? You are the son of Mrs. Moray, of Lindenholm, are you not?" "Certainly; but that is beside the question. You never, even in your own mind, doubted the truth of what you say?" She laughed the little, careless, sweet laugh that he remembered so well. "To tell the plain truth, Earle, I never felt myself quite a Brace--the manners and tastes of those good people were so different to my own." "Then what I have to say will not shock you. You had no great love for the simple farmer and his kindly wife?" "If you wish for the truth, again I say no. I had no great love for them. They were good in their way--that way was not mine." "So it seems," he retorted. "Then you will not suffer any great amount of pain if I tell you that Mark Brace is not your father, nor his kindly wife your mother?" "Now, Earle, you are inventing a romance to please yourself." "Does it please you, Doris? I leave inventions to yourself; I tell you the plain, honest truth--you are no relation of theirs." "Who am I, then? If you take my old identity from me, you must, at least, give me a new one," she said, laughingly. Her utter want of feeling and absence of all emotions annoyed him greatly. "I will tell you a story," he said. And with a grace and pathos all his own, he told the history of that night so long ago, when the little child was found at the door of the farm-house. She looked incredulous. "Do you mean to tell me that I was that child? A wretched little foundling! I do not believe one word of it. This is your revenge--to humiliate me."