“But it is such an outrageous event--so unnatural and impossible. Of course, I’m aware that you and poor Joseline were all in all to one another--a sort of fairy tale, your marriage; but that is over. You are no longer a young man; you have other ties.” “But no child?” “No; and this one, if she is your own flesh and blood, will be an alien, a stranger in ideas, prejudices, and religion--nothing more or less than a pretty Irish peasant, eh?” “He said she was the image of her mother.” Lord Maxwelton looked incredulous. Then he resumed-- “The likeness may be accidental. Such things do happen. Just think of the horror of the present Lady Mulgrave to have a girl less refined than her own kitchen-maid thrust into her intimate society--in fact, bound to accept and chaperone the stranger as her daughter! And as to that story of a baby changed at nurse, I don’t quite believe that; it sounds too much like a shilling shocker. Your man Usher is, no doubt, a romantic old bachelor; he has been captivated by a pretty girl--I can _see_ he has--and found a mare’s nest. If I were you, I should do nothing hastily; in fact, I’m not sure that _I_ should do anything at all.” “Max, I’m amazed to hear you talk in this cold-blooded fashion.” “Cold-blooded! No, but prudent and far-seeing, my dear fellow. Do you realise the results of bringing over this Irish girl? She will be Baroness of Marchlyde in her own right. She will inherit a certain amount of the family property--she, an uncouth, raw, country girl! You could do nothing with her. Of course her character is formed by now. She will probably make your present quiet life most sensational and wretched. She is happy where she is--_you_ are happy where you are.” “No, Max, you know very well that I have never been happy since her mother left me. But oh! if fortune were to give me back Joseline in our daughter, I’d ask no more.” “Then what do you propose to do?” inquired his listener, in a sharper key. “Return at once to the castle, get a few things put together, and leave by the six o’clock from the junction. I’ll go alone, and not take my man, and you will make my excuses to every one, and say that I was called away by important business.” “All right--though in my opinion it’s all wrong. Shall you tell Lady Mulgrave and Elgitha?” “Only my wife just yet.” “If you are wise, you will wait.” “Wait! For what? If this girl is my daughter, I shall bring her back with me.” “And if it is a wild-goose chase, how foolish you will look!” “Yes; one has to take risks, and I’m ready to chance that. Now I see all the others anxious to start and I must not detain you. Good-bye, old man”--wringing his hand--“I leave you to explain everything. Wish me luck.” “I wish you _luck_,” rejoined the other, putting his own construction on the word; and in another minute the two had separated. CHAPTER XIII