And she turned from one to another, severally defying them. Her face had become blank of every expression but that one. This was the way in which she betrayed herself. She defied them all. Her face said--Find me out if you can; I will never tell you--instead of wearing, as a more accomplished deceiver would have done, the air of having nothing to find out. “Have you ever seen these letters before?” said Edgar; and he lifted the papers and put them into her hands. Arthur, who was watching, saw her breast heave. He saw her hand clutch them, as if she would have torn them in pieces. But she dared not tear them in pieces. She looked at them, made a pretence to read, and stood as if she were an image cut out of stone. “How should I have seen them?” she said, putting them back on the table as if they had burned her. “My cousin, Thomas Perfitt, is an old servant of your house; but how should its secrets have come to me?” “Look here,” said Edgar, in his excitement; “I believe you know; something tells me that you know. Mr. Fazakerly, give us your attention. You will not serve me by pretending ignorance if you know. I have found out that I am not Mr. Arden’s son.” “Softly, softly!” said the lawyer, putting his hand on Edgar’s arm. “That is mere assertion on your part; there is no proof.” “Hear me out,” cried Edgar. “I am speaking from myself only. I am certain I am not Mr. Arden’s son, nor Mrs. Arden’s son. I am a stranger altogether to the race. To me these letters prove it fully. For his own evil ends, whatever they may have been, the master of this house adopted me--perhaps bought me----” Here there was another interruption. Mrs. Murray put out her hand suddenly as if to stop him, and gave a cry as of pain; but once more stiffened back into her old attitude, regarding them with the same defiant look. Edgar paused, he looked her full in the face, he put his hand upon her arm. “You injure me by your silence,” he said. “Speak! Are you my---- Am I----?” His voice shook, his whole frame trembled. “You are something to me,” he cried, looking at her. “Speak, for God’s sake! Was it you who wrote these letters? You know them--you recognised them. It is for my benefit that you should speak. Answer me!--the time is past for concealment. Tell me what you know.”