"Were you ever in Yorkshire?" asked Mary, with a trembling voice. Something stilled Minnie's tongue; she could not speak. "Yorkshire!" he cried in almost terror. "Do you mean at an old manor-house?" "Come here," whispered Minnie, scarcely audible. She felt something strange was surrounding her. "Come nearer--here, beside me. I am too weak to speak loud--there," and she clasped his hand. "Father, by the love you have shown me--to me, a poor orphan child, a deserted wife--tell me, who are you? My name is Tremenhere, and I know the manor-house well; it _was_ my husband's father's!" "Merciful heavens!" exclaimed Georges, in agitation. "Then how are you thus? and how have we met? Tell me--is your husband the son--the only son of the _late_ Miles Tremenhere, of the manor-house? for you speak of the father as being no more." Mary sat speechless, and yet she knew not what her hopes or fears were; she was in a stupor. "Miles Tremenhere, the son, is my husband," answered Minnie; "but he has forsaken me--forsaken me!" and her tears gushed forth. "I will tell you," said Mary, in a whisper, drawing near and clasping Minnie in her arms. "This poor lady has been the victim of a villain, Marmaduke Burton, who, when old Mr. Tremenhere died, put in a claim to the property, on the plea of the son's illegitimacy; and, having driven him forth, was not content without destroying his young wife's fame, to drive him to desperation." "Illegitimacy!" exclaimed Georges, like one in a dream. "That was false; for _I_ married his parents--baptized him!" "Oh!" shrieked Minnie, starting from Mary's arms, and grasping his arm; "your name then is not Georges--'tis d'Estrées!" "I will tell you all, my poor child," he said, when his overflowing tears had subsided; and he leaned over the pillow, where lay the pale and exhausted Minnie from over-excitement. "I was chaplain in Gibraltar to Lord Dillon, who was governor there, and I knew, and became most intimate with Tremenhere, who was quartered there. For family reasons he did not wish his marriage with Helena Nunoz, with whom he had become acquainted, known to any one, on account of the obscurity of her family, during his father's lifetime. I married them privately: shortly afterwards they left for England: here, in Paris, they were re-married on account of her religion, she insisted upon it, by a catholic priest: all was legally, correctly done. Mr. Tremenhere was too good a man to have it otherwise. When his wife, than whom a better creature never existed, was near her confinement, he felt desirous the child should be baptized by me; and for that purpose I obtained permission of Lord Dillon, who had quitted Gibraltar, to go to Yorkshire, and there the ceremony was performed, and registered, in the parish church. "True," answered Mary, "but no one could discover whither Mr. d'Estrées who officiated had gone; besides, 'twas the marriage which was disputed, not baptism."