“Aye, Clary, here I be,” said the little woman. “I know well you didn’t expect me, and that you didn’t wish me to come, but I’ve kept it to myself for over a month and I can’t abear it no longer. I told that fine servant of yours to let me up. I took him by surprise and ran past him up the stairs. You needn’t glare at me like that, Clary, for here I be and here I’ll stay till I know the whole truth. Aye, Clary, my girl, I has found out your secret, and I know the name of the child. He’s Sir Piers Pelham, the rightful owner of Pelham Towers. I don’t mean to keep that secret to myself any longer.” CHAPTER XXVII. A BLACK CRIME. Mrs. Ives’s appearance on the scene roused Clara. She questioned her mother eagerly. Very soon she had got to the bottom of the old woman’s knowledge. Mrs. Ives completely exonerated the boy of having broken his word. “There’s not a more truthful nor a braver little chap in existence,” she cried. “He were always a near telling me, dear lamb! The whole thing worrited him awful, but he never did tell, never. Because he had given his word to you, Clary, nothing would make him break it. I don’t think red-hot irons would have wrung the truth from him, but he let it out in his sleep, bless him. He was restless, he had a bad headache. I gave him some quieting medicine, and he went to sleep in my arms, and in his sleep he began to talk and to mention the name of Pelham and Pelham Towers, and he cried out for some one called Dick and for a young lady of the name of Barbara. “You’ll judge it were easy for me to put two and two together after that. But I thought I’d make certain sure afore I come to you, Clary, and I did. A month ago I went to Pelham Towers and I saw the young lady, the baronet’s wife, and I saw the housekeeper. I also saw the family vault. Dear heart! I heard a mighty piteous story about a coffin being put in and about one who went into the vault and who mourned as if his heart were broken. It was a deep plot, Clary, a deep plot, but I ha’ found it out. It ain’t your secret any more. It’s mine now.” “What do you mean to do?” asked Clara at last. “Tell me first if it’s true, Clary. I know it is, but I’d like to hear it from your own lips.” “Yes, mother, it’s true,” said Clara slowly. “Now I want to know what you mean to do.” “I must know all the reasons,” said the old woman. “I am not at liberty to give you the reasons.” “But, Clary, my girl, you’ve done an awful thing—something that will bring you under the power of the law. Am I to stand the disgrace of having one of my own locked up in one of her Majesty’s prisons and going through penal servitude, and being spoke of in all the papers? I’m poor, but I’m honest, and I has a respectable name, and this thing will kill me, that’s what it will.”