Lord Lackington sat down again. The lame child, it appeared, had some artistic talent, which Miss Le Breton wished to cultivate. Meredith suddenly found his coat and hat, and, with a queer look at Julie, departed in a hurry. "Thérèse, darling," said Julie, "will you go up-stairs, please, and fetch me that book from my room that has your little drawings inside it?" The child limped away on her errand. In spite of her lameness she moved with wonderful lightness and swiftness, and she was back again quickly with a calf-bound book in her hand. "Léonie!" said Julie, in a low voice, to Madame Bornier. The little woman looked up startled, nodded, rolled up her knitting in a moment, and was gone. "Take the book to his lordship, Thérèse," she said, and then, instead of moving with the child, she again walked to the window, and, leaning her head against it, looked out. The hand hanging against her dress trembled violently. "What did you want me to look at, my dear?" said Lord Lackington, taking the book in his hand and putting on his glasses. But the child was puzzled and did not know. She gazed at him silently with her sweet, docile look. "Run away, Thérèse, and find mother," said Julie, from the window. The child sped away and closed the door behind her. Lord Lackington adjusted his glasses and opened the book. Two or three slips of paper with drawings upon them fluttered out and fell on the table beneath. Suddenly there was a cry. Julie turned round, her lips parted. Lord Lackington walked up to her. "Tell me what this means," he said, peremptorily. "How did you come by it?" It was a volume of George Sand. He pointed, trembling, to the name and date on the fly-leaf--"Rose Delaney, 1842." "It is mine," she said, softly, dropping her eyes. "But how--how, in God's name, did you come by it?" "My mother left it to me, with all her other few books and possessions." There was a pause. Lord Lackington came closer. "Who was your mother?" he said, huskily. The words in answer were hardly audible. Julie stood before him like a culprit, her beautiful head humbly bowed. Lord Lackington dropped the book and stood bewildered. "Rose's child?" he said--"Rose's child?" Then, approaching her, he placed his hand on her arm. "Let me look at you," he commanded. Julie raised her eyes to him, and at the same time dumbly held out to him a miniature she had been keeping hidden in her hand. It was one of the miniatures from the locked triptych. He took it, looked from the pictured to the living face, then, turning away with a groan, he covered his face with his hands and fell again into the chair from which he had risen. Julie hurried to him. Her own eyes were wet with tears. After a moment's hesitation she knelt down beside him. "I ought to ask your pardon for not having told you before," she murmured. It was some time before Lord Lackington looked up. When at last his hands dropped, the face they uncovered was very white and old.