“I wrote my husband that my child had been born, telling him it was better it should die, since such a poor little cripple could not live long at the most, and said I would join him in Paris in a few days, as it was intolerable for me to remain longer where I had suffered such a severe disappointment. When I met him he seemed grieved and sorrowful, yet he never questioned me further, and so I kept my secret until his death. After that I concluded to bring the child here, since the nurse wrote me that he was getting unmanageable, and so I fitted up those secret chambers as comfortable as I could, and have kept him there. God knows that I could not wilfully have wronged the child so, but after that first concealment it seemed impossible to confess his existence, and so it has gone on until now.” “Have you never considered the sufferings and feelings of the poor boy?” demanded his lordship, wrathfully. “Oh, yes,” she moaned; “but I saw no way out of it without bringing disgrace upon Charles and all of us.” “Do you think he would uphold you in such a deed?” “No, no! Oh, how you torture me! But,” she said, looking up pitifully, “you will not take any public action against me?” “Public action!” he repeated, contemptuously. “Could any public action restore those twenty years of his lost life to the poor boy? No; but I want justice now.” “He shall have it. I will strive as far as I can to repair the injury I have done him, just as soon as we are through with the wedding—that is, if Isabel is willing to go on with it after this,” she said, regarding the young girl somewhat doubtfully. Mrs. Coolidge’s heart leaped at this; it was just the condition of all others she most desired Lady Randal to be in. Rising, she went over to her side, and holding out her hand, said with an appearance of great magnanimity: “I regret exceedingly that anything so very dreadful should have occurred, but we have all done wrong. I am ready to acknowledge my share regarding Mrs. Dredmond. Shall we then overlook each other’s faults, and still allow our children, who are not to blame, to be happy?” “And you will not betray me to Charles just yet?” she gasped. “Certainly not; you must confide in him yourself when you think proper. I think myself it would be wiser not to tell him until after his return from his tour, for it might destroy all his pleasure. When once he is settled at home again, then all these things can be explained,” she said, suavely. Lord Dunforth, towering aloft in his indignation, advanced, and stood before the two women. “No, madam,” he said, firmly; “you may hide what else you choose from him, but Sir Charles must be acquainted this day—nay, this hour—with the fact that he has a brother.” The attention of all was at this moment attracted by a slight noise at the other end of the drawing-room.