There was an interchange of astute glances. "If I were a rich man, I should be content to be the loser, but I am a poor man, and am compelled to ask that those mortgages stand forfeit." "Is it the law?" "It is--and, as you will say, only a fair one," Hugh answered. "Who are the mortgagees?" "That is where the pity arises--the chief of them is no other than the daughter of Robert Lowther--Greta." Sundry further twists and turns. "Pity for her." "Well, she should have seen to his title. Who was her lawyer?" "Her father's executor, our friend Mr. Bonnithorne." "How much does she lose?" "I'm afraid a great deal--perhaps half her fortune," said Hugh. "No matter; it's but fair, Mr. Ritson is not to inherit an estate impoverished by the excesses of the wrong man." Drayton's head was still bent, but he scraped his feet restlessly. "I have only another word to say," said Hugh. "In affairs of this solemn nature, it is best to have witnesses, or perhaps I should have preferred to confer with Paul and Mr. Bonnithorne in private." He dropped his voice and added: "You see, there is my poor mother; and though, in a sense, she is no longer of this world, her good name must ever be sacred with me." The astute glances again, and two pairs of upraised hands. The lawyer had twisted toward the window. "But our friend Bonnithorne will tell you that the law in effect compelled me to evict my brother. You may not know that there is a condition of English law in which a bastard becomes a permanent heir; that is when he is called, in the language of the law, the bastard eigne." There was a tremor in his voice as he added softly: "Believe me, I had no choice." Drayton stamped his heavy foot, threw down his pipe, and jumped to his feet. "It's a lie, the lot of it!" he blurted. Then he fumbled at his watch-pocket, and pulled out a paper. "That's my register, straight and plain." He stammered it aloud: "Ritson, Paul; father, Allan Ritson; mother, Grace Ritson. Date of birth, April 6, 1847; place, Crieff, Scotland." Hugh Ritson, a little pale, smiled. The others turned to him in their amazement. In an instant he had regained an appearance of indifference. "Where does it come from?" he asked. "The registrar's at Edinburgh. D'ye say it ain't right?" "No; but I say, what is it worth? Gentlemen," said Hugh, turning to the visitors, "compare it with the register of my father's marriage. Observe, the one date is April 6, 1847; the other is June 12, 1847. Even if genuine, does it prove legitimacy?" Drayton laid his hand on the lawyer's arm. "Here you, speak up, will ye?" he said. Mr. Bonnithorne rose, and then Hugh Ritson's pale face became ghastly. "This birth occurred in Scotland," he said. "Now, if the father happened to hold a Scotch domicile, and the mother lived with him as his wife, the child would be legitimate." "Without a marriage?" "Without a ceremony."