"Foul villain!" he said, as he strode to Lilburne, while Fanny still clung to his breast: "Speak!--speak!--is--she--is she?--man--man, speak! --you know what I would say!--She is the child of your own daughter--the grandchild of that Mary whom you dishonoured--the child of the woman whom William Gawtrey saved from pollution! Before he died, Gawtrey commended her to my care!--O God of Heaven!--speak!--I am not too late!" The manner, the words, the face of Philip left Lilburne terror-stricken with conviction. But the man's crafty ability, debased as it was, triumphed even over remorse for the dread guilt meditated,--over gratitude for the dread guilt spared. He glanced at Beaufort--at Dykeman, who now, slowly recovering, gazed at him with eyes that seemed starting from their sockets; and lastly fixed his look on Philip himself. There were three witnesses--presence of mind was his great attribute. "And if, Monsieur de Vaudemont, I knew, or, at least, had the firmest persuasion that Fanny was my grandchild, what then? Why else should she be here?--Pooh, sir! I am an old man." Philip recoiled a step in wonder; his plain sense was baffled by the calm lie. He looked down at Fanny, who, comprehending nothing of what was spoken, for all her faculties, even her very sense of sight and hearing, were absorbed in her impatient anxiety for him, cried out: "No harm has come to Fanny--none: only frightened. Read!--Read!--Save that paper!--You know what you once said about a mere scrap of paper! Come away! Come!" He did now cast his eyes on the paper he held. That was an awful moment for Robert Beaufort--even for Lilburne! To snatch the fatal document from that gripe! They would as soon have snatched it from a tiger! He lifted his eyes--they rested on his mother's picture! Her lips smiled on him! He turned to Beaufort in a state of emotion too exulting, too blest for vulgar vengeance--for vulgar triumph--almost for words. "Look yonder, Robert Beaufort--look!" and he pointed to the picture. "Her name is spotless! I stand again beneath a roof that was my father's,--the Heir of Beaufort! We shall meet before the justice of our country. For you, Lord Lilburne, I will believe you: it is too horrible to doubt even your intentions. If wrong had chanced to her, I would have rent you where you stand, limb from limb. And thank her",--(for Lilburne recovered at this language the daring of his youth, before calculation, indolence, and excess had dulled the edge of his nerves; and, unawed by the height, and manhood, and strength of his menacer, stalked haughtily up to him)--"and thank your relationship to her," said Philip, sinking his voice into a whisper, "that I do not brand you as a pilferer and a cheat! Hush, knave!--hush, pupil of George Gawtrey!--there are no duels for me but with men of honour!" Lilburne now turned white, and the big word stuck in his throat. In another instant Fanny and her guardian had quitted the house.