"We will suppose"--Lady Woodroffe got up and stood before the fireplace, looking down upon her visitor, who was now trembling and tearful--"we will suppose, I say, that you take some steps. I hardly know what steps you can take. Would you go to a lawyer? Perhaps. Would you go to my son? Perhaps. In either case the evidence will be examined. On your side a fancied resemblance. Why"--she pointed to a portrait on the wall--"that is my husband at the age of thirty. Whose eyes, whose face, whose hair, do you see in that portrait? Is it, or is it not, like my son?" There really was a strong resemblance. Lady Woodroffe, however, did not explain that she had copied it herself from an early portrait, perhaps with additions and slight alterations. "This portrait alone will meet the case. Besides--a chance resemblance--again--what is it?" Alice shook her head sadly. She was shaken in her faith. "Next, you find an entry in a register. Who made that entry? You do not know. Why? You cannot tell." "Yet Mr. Woodroffe says----" "Never mind Mr. Woodroffe. Listen to what I say. You then come forward yourself, and you tell the very disgraceful story of how you sold your own child--your own boy. Oh, a terrible--a shameful story!" "Who was the child that died?" Molly put a word for the first time. "Who was that child? I cannot tell you. Some one, for purposes unknown, chose to represent a dead child as my husband's child. I say that I do not choose to offer any explanation of this personation. I will tell you, however, how Mr. Woodroffe explains it, which you know already." She waited for a reply. There was none. "He supposes that the child was my child; and he supposes, next, that the person who bought your child was myself. That is what he calls certainty." "Who was the child, then?" Molly repeated. "Even supposing that my own child died at Birmingham, which is absolutely false--how will you connect the dead child's mother with the transaction which followed?" "I don't know." Alice looked to Molly for support, and found none. Molly sat with cold, impassive face. "When you have made it quite clear that you sold your child, you have then to fix your crime upon me as well. How will you do it? For I have letters showing where I was. The dates prove that I could not be in Birmingham at the time; they prove also that I was at my father's house in Scotland with my boy. Now, what have you got to say?" "I want my son." "Find your son," she replied, with a touch of temper. "He will be proud indeed of his mother when you do find him!" Alice shuddered. "I can do nothing to get that delusion out of your mind, then?" "I want my son." The woman's face was obstinate. She had left off crying and shaking; her eyes were fierce, her pale face was set; she meant fighting. The interview had been a failure. "Who was the child that died?" Molly's question made all clear and plain again.