“What--what?” he said. “Nonsense! it’s raving, it’s madness! I’ll not credit a word of it; it’s some story made up. May, May, tell me it all over again; what does this mean?” “It means,” said Marjory, with sudden composure, which came to her she could not tell how, “that unless we take care to clear it all up, and prove the truth or falsehood of this story, there will be a disputed succession in our family to be fought out; perhaps when we are no longer living; but, one day or other, it will certainly be fought out.” “Bless me! bless me!” said Mr. Charles, walking about the room in great agitation. “What is this? what is this? A disputed succession, a wife and a child--did you say a child, or a son? And, God bless me! if it’s true, what kind of a woman must she be that he never dared acknowledge her? He knew how his father wanted him to marry--and a son! Did you say a son? This is the most astonishing piece of news, Marjory,” Mr. Charles added, coming up to her, “if it can be relied upon, that I ever heard in all my life.” “I thought it would startle you; but you do not think now I could have helped taking an interest, Uncle Charles? When I heard of the child----” “God bless us!” said the pious philosopher again. He was too much excited to remain still. He walked up and down the room, repeating broken sentences to himself. “But the mother must be come of very indifferent folk; she must have little to recommend her; she must be some girl that has known how to take care of herself. And then the story may not be true; you must take into account, May, that it’s very likely it may not be true.” “That is exactly what I think we must find out--without sparing either money or trouble, Uncle Charles.” “Lord preserve us!” said the old man; “and in that case the other little bairn would have nothing to do with it? and these young women--Marjory, my dear, I see the hand of Providence in this. Does she give full particulars? has she proof? I would not say a word, nor interfere one way or another, without strong and clear evidence. Has she proof?” “Yes,” said Marjory, out of the fulness of her heart. She had no need herself of any proof of Isabell’s story. Her face was guarantee of that; and she had a second visionary confidence, as strong or stronger than her trust in Isabell--which was that Fanshawe would find all that was wanted. Thus she took upon herself to answer, as it were, for both of these persons, in her warm affirmation, rather than for the abstract truth. As a matter of fact, the evidence, she knew, was not forthcoming; but Marjory believed in _her_, and she believed also in _him_. “And these young women at Pitcomlie;” said Mr. Charles, with a gleam of momentary triumph. He was ashamed, however, of his emotion almost before he had expressed it. “That is, my dear,” he said, “if there is any truth in the story; which is a thing I scarcely believe.” CHAPTER XIV.