“Sir Douglas Gerant’s daughter, the cousin of Crosbie, my friend.” Stuart drew back while the earl murmured soothing words in her ear, and she gradually awoke to the reality. “He was my father,” she said, dreamily; then, with a sudden rush of remembrance: “Ah, now I understand all!” She sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands. Presently she rose, saying to the earl: “Tell me everything.” Lord Court put his lips to her hand. “Crosbie will do that, my darling; he is your cousin now, you must remember. Give him your hand, and bid him welcome to your home as your kinsman and your friend; you were too ill last night to do so.” Margery’s heart seemed to stand still; then, nerving herself for the effort, she stretched out her hand. “You are welcome, cousin,” she said, in a faint voice. Their fingers met for an instant, then dropped apart; and Margery turned away, feeling that the agony of this meeting was almost greater than she could bear. The earl drew her gently toward him. She was too weak to offer any resistance--was even glad of the support; and, standing with her husband’s arm around her, Margery heard the story of her father’s sorrow and her mother’s martyrdom slowly but distinctly from Stuart Crosbie’s lips. The words went home to her heart; the despair, the misery caused her unspeakable pain, and tears rained from her eyes. The earl, wrapped up in his thoughts for his wife, took no notice of Stuart’s agitation and pallor. He did not think it strange that the young squire of Crosbie Castle should have been so surprised at seeing Margery. His sister had told him the girl’s history, as she had heard it from Miss Lawson, and, remembering that his wife had been called a village girl, it was not likely her action would be known at the castle. He only felt a great wave of gratitude and happiness fill his heart. The mystery of her birth solved, Margery would now be content, and there would be no barrier to their complete happiness. As Stuart spoke of Beecham Park, Margery raised her head. “The estate is mine?” she said, slowly. “You are the next heir,” answered Stuart. “Therefore you are a great lady,” put in Lord Court, smiling. “Beecham Park is one of the finest places in England. But come, Crosbie; sit down. This has been a morning of surprises, but we must eat, or we shall sink beneath them altogether. You must pay us a long visit now, for you have no reason to go--has he, Margery? When there was Australia to consider, it was another thing.” So the earl chatted on, eager to rouse Margery from the dreams into which she had fallen; and with a glance at Stuart, he adroitly turned the conversation and plunged into other topics. Margery sat silent. She could not eat--her brain was in a whirl; and at last she could bear her distress no longer, and with a murmured apology she went slowly to the door.