Young Mrs Burton lingered a little. She called her children about her--a pretty group--evidently with the intention of showing her husband’s friend, with natural pride, what there was to be said on her side. Mr Burton looked at them with a less justifiable but not less natural pride, not untouched with shame, in his elderly eyes. “That will do, that will do, Mary; take them away,” he cried. Then he said, turning to his son, “I see you agree with me, Gervase, that it’s better not to disturb her mind. She’s a very good wife to me, and takes great care of me--and the children.” “They are beautiful children,” said Gervase. “Are they not?” cried the old gentleman, exultant. But he checked himself, and put a few formal questions about his son’s affairs, walking with him towards the gate. “I am very glad to have seen you,” he said--“sincerely glad. You can let me know when anything particular happens. Otherwise don’t trouble about correspondence. And I need not ask you to say nothing about your discovery, nor my present address, nor----” “You may rely upon me, father.” “That’s quite enough--that’s quite enough. God bless you, my boy! I am sincerely glad to have seen you--good-bye, good-bye!” Mr Burton said. Gervase walked back along the lake-side, with a clouded brow and a bewildered mind. He could not think of his father’s strange new position, for thinking of the mystery rediscovered in his own life. If it did not come from Mr Burton, from whom did it come, that ten thousand pounds? He met Madeline about half-way to the inn. She told him she had been too much excited to rest; that she had come to meet him out of pure nervousness. “Tell me all about it,” she said, looking in his face with very bright, feverish, uneasy eyes. “Madeline,” he said, “my father did not send me that ten thousand pounds.” “Dear Gervase, is that all you have to tell me? Tell me about him, about _her_, about those children.” “If my father did not send it, who did? There is no other question in the world for me till I know this. I must find out. I am going home at once.” “Let us go by all means; but that is an old affair. Surely now you may let it rest.” He put his hands upon her shoulders and looked into her face. “You would not answer so lightly if it were as much a mystery to you as to me. Madeline, at least tell me the truth.” She freed herself from his hold and from his gaze, with a burst of nervous laughter; then clinging to his arm, and pressing her head against his shoulder, made her confession. “It was the ten thousand pounds my old aunt left me to be at my own disposal--nobody knew but old Mr Mentore, who did not disapprove. You wanted it only to settle it upon me. Gervase, what was the harm?” “Only that you played a trick upon me, Madeline, when I trusted you so entirely--only that you have deceived me into owing you everything, when I thought----”