“Mrs. de Lara,” queries Hector D’Estrange, in a voice in which respect and tenderness are mingled, “you have heard the statement for the prosecution in which you and I are accused of undue intimacy? You have heard my reply, in which I declare you to be my mother? Which statement is correct?” “Yours,” she replies in a firm, clear voice. “I am your mother.” “And my father?” he again asks. “Was Captain Harry Kintore.” “Both Weston and Victoire state that they gave you a month’s notice. Is this a fact?” “It is not,” she replies firmly; “it was I who gave it to them. To Weston for being drunk and impertinent, to Victoire for the latter fault.” “It is stated by Weston that you were in the habit of receiving frequent visits from Lord Westray? Is this so?” “It is not,” she answers quickly; “the statement is a wicked falsehood. Only once he obtained admittance, when he came to insult me with the proposal that I should re-marry him and forget the past. You came in when he was there, and requested him to leave the house.” “Did he do so?” “At once,” she replies. “Since then have you been annoyed by his presence, or in any other way?” “By his presence, no, until the night on which he is alleged to have been murdered, but by letters, yes.” “You have kept or destroyed those letters?” “Every one is destroyed!” she replies almost fiercely; “most of them unopened.” “Can you remember the date when Rita Vernon first came to you, and who sent her?” “Yes, well,” answers Speranza. “It was the 21st of June, 1894. She brought a letter from you, written at the instance of the Duke of Ravensdale. I at once made her my secretary and general amanuensis.” “Has she served you faithfully?” “None more so,” she replies. “Mrs. de Lara, you have heard Mr. Trackem’s statement, that you sent her with a note to him on the day of the supposed murder. Is this true, or false?” “False!” she replies sternly. “And you have heard Victoire’s declaration that you left a letter for her, apprising her of your departure for London the night of the supposed murder. Is this true?” “It is not,” she answers. “I wrote no letter.” “Will you give his lordship and the gentlemen of the jury your version of what occurred on the night in question.” She gives it in a firm, clear voice, without hesitation or faltering. She tells the facts as we have described them in a former chapter. A shudder runs through the court at their mere recital. Is it possible that such horrors reflect the truth? Sir Anthony smiles superciliously. “Hallucination,” he mutters audibly. “Many women are subject to it.” She looks at him contemptuously, but scorns to further notice the great man’s brutality. “You swear, Mrs. de Lara, that what you have stated is absolutely correct?” “Absolutely,” she answers calmly; “I swear it.” Cross-examined by the Attorney-General. “You will swear that you were not in the habit of receiving Lord Westray, Mrs. de Lara? Now, pray be careful, very careful.”