The quietest scene: the sun caught the sign-post of the Arden Arms, which had been newly painted in honour of Edgar, and played upon the red cap of the drayman who stood by, and swept down the long white road, clearing it of every shadow. All this Edgar saw and noted without knowing it. In many a distant scene, at many a distant day, this came back to him--the gleam of that red cap, the watchful spectatorship of the old man over the churchyard wall. Dr. Somers met him coming out. “Ah!” said the Doctor, “coming to see me. I am in no particular hurry. Come in, Edgar. It is not so often one sees you now----” “You will see me less in the future,” said Edgar with a smile; “but I don’t think there will be many broken hearts.” “Are you going away?” said Dr. Somers, leading the way into his own room. “Visits, I suppose; but take my word for it, my boy, there is no house so pleasant as your own house in autumn, when the covers are as well populated as yours. No, no; stay at home--take your visits later in the year.” “Dr. Somers,” said Edgar, “I have come to tell you something. Yes, I am very serious, and it is very serious--there is nothing, alas, to laugh about. Do you remember what you hinted to me once here about--Mrs. Arden. Do you recollect the story you told me of the Agostini----” “Ah, yes!” said the Doctor, growing slightly red. “About your mother--yes, perhaps I did hint; one does not like to speak to a man plainly about anything that has been said of his mother. I am very sorry; but I don’t think I meant any harm--to you--only to warn you what people said----” “And I have come to tell you that people are mistaken,” said Edgar, with rising colour. He felt, poor fellow, as if he were vindicating his mother by proving that he was not her son. She was his mother in his thoughts still and always. Dr. Somers shook his head ever so slightly; of course, that was the right thing for her son to say. “You think I have come, without evidence, to make a mere assertion,” Edgar continued. “Listen a moment----” “My dear fellow,” said Dr. Somers, shrugging his shoulders, “how could you, or any one, make more than a mere assertion on such a subject. Assert what you please. You may be right--most likely you are right; but it is a matter which cannot be brought to proof.” “Yes,” said Edgar. This time it was worse than even with Lady Augusta. With her he had the support of strong feeling, and counted on sympathy. But the Doctor was different. A film came over the young man’s eyes; the pulsations of his heart seemed to stop. The Doctor, looking at him, jumped up, and rushing to a cupboard brought out some wine. “Drink it before you say another word. Why Edgar, what is this?” He put the wine away from him with some impatience. “Listen,” he said; “this is what it is--I am not Mrs. Arden’s son!”