"I, Marmaduke Muir, second son of Baron Drummuir, of Drummuir Castle, hereby acknowledge Marrion Paul as my lawful wife." Underneath in her finer writing was her own acknowledgment of her tie to Marmaduke. The old man, for all he had had no hopes of escape, was wary. "You give this up because you know he, my fool of a son, has a counterpart, eh? That's about it, I expect?" Marrion flushed to the very roots of her hair, but she spoke calmly. "Yes, your son has the counterpart----" she began. The old man burst into one of his sudden rude guffaws. "Ha, ha, ha! And you thought you'd take in the old fox, my fine madam!" he said, then paused before the passion of her face. "If you will listen you will believe me. I could claim to be his wife now if I chose. I do not choose. I prefer that he should lead the life he loved, that he should marry and bring you the heir for which--for which you would sell your soul, you poor old man! But Marmaduke is a soldier born; if he misses this chance he will be a disappointed man. As like as not he will never marry, even though he knows I've set him free. But send him this money, and I swear to you the counterpart shall be destroyed. What shall I swear by? I swear by the poor dead baby!" She paused. "Marmaduke said he was so like you. I never saw him. I was too near death." Her voice trailed away to monotony. The old man sat staring at her, an odd tremor in his face. "I swear it shall be destroyed," she continued. "I--I have very great influence over your son; he--he will do what I ask." "Then why the devil are you giving him up, and your prospects here? They're not to be sneezed at by a woman like you!" The phrase nettled her. She rose and stood beside him strong and steady. "Lord Drummuir," she said sarcastically, "I know you to be clever and I thought, being a gentleman, that you might have seen the truth and spared me the pain of that question. I will answer it, however. It is cause your son never loved me. He is very, very fond of me. He has been so ever since we were boy and girl together. And I have been of great use to him. But I could not bring love into his life, and I could not bring him a child. So it did not seem worth while; I could only stand aside." There was a pause. The old man's face had grown sharp and paler; there was uncertainty even in the cruel lines about the mouth. "You're rather an extraordinary young woman," he remarked coolly; "might have made your fortune on the stage. Wish I'd met you there!" He grinned. "But now to business. You have the whip hand, of course--I admit that. Now, if I give you--or that fool, my son, it's the same thing--the money for this paper, you promise to make him destroy his counterpart." "I promise," she replied eagerly. "I can make him do most things----"