"Oh, plenty of proof! The old apothecary at Murree is still alive, and will bear out my tale about Lady Vera. The chaplain who christened the baby when she was but three days old can speak, and the name of Vera Hargreaves will be in the church register. Besides, I have a photograph of her mother which the ayah gave me. I have a letter from young Hargreaves after he left Murree, and a little card-case and a book with a crest inside. I don't know why I kept these things, I am sure, but since the girl came out I have felt certain that this blow-up would have to happen some day--and here it is!" The confession was evidently a dreadful shock to Mr. Chandos; the fire of his indignation had died down; he sat crouched up in his chair in a condition of mental and physical collapse. Verona had been with him less than twelve months, and yet she was far dearer to him than any of his children. The blow seemed to have broken his heart; he gazed at the girl, his face working, his eyes dim with pain, and held out his trembling hands. She went over to him, looking very white, and said: "I cannot realize this news, it seems incredible; I am most unfortunate--I seem to belong to no one." (Whilst she was speaking, Mrs. Chandos had risen and rushed out of the room, and in another moment she might be heard uttering shriek after shriek, and indulging in a terrible attack of her screaming hysterics.) "I shall always think of you as my father, though I suppose I shall have to go away. I daresay kind Mrs. Cavalho will take me in for a few days?" "Oh, Verona!" and Pussy rose and threw her arms round her. "You cannot leave _me_! you must not leave us! you must not! you must not! I cannot live without you--it will kill me! You shall not stir, for I shall die!" and she burst into a flood of tears. "The best thing to be done," said Mr. Lepell, "is for you to go up to Lizzie; I suppose you can remain here for the night, and I will take you to Naini Tal myself to-morrow." All this time Salwey had remained in the background, listening to Mrs. Chandos' wild confession. He now came forward and made a rather important statement: "You remember the lady who sat opposite us at the ball supper, Miss Chandos--Lady Ida Eustace. Her sister, Lady Vera, married a Mr. Hargreaves. It is quite true that it was a runaway match, and all the family were implacable until poor Lady Vera died in India, and then she was forgiven. It was a tragic story. I remember hearing of it as a boy--of beautiful Lady Vera, and how her husband was killed three weeks after her death. The baby, it seems, did not die after all; Lady Ida, you see, is your own aunt, so you are not entirely without someone belonging to you. Well, now, I think," taking his uncle's arm, "we had better go away; you have to make your arrangements for an early start to-morrow." CHAPTER XLI