“A young nobleman!” ejaculated Mrs. Fitzhardinge, now surprised in her turn: for it must be remembered that all she knew concerning the present subject was gleaned from the musings of the old gipsy; and those musings had led her to believe that Charles was the nephew of Mr. Hatfield, _alias_ Thomas Rainford. “Yes--madam--a young nobleman!” he repeated, carried away by the excitement of feelings under which he laboured: for he fancied that the old lady had intended to reproach him--_him_, the son of the resuscitated highwayman--with having dared to love her daughter. “And now, perhaps, it is your turn to be surprised: for, as surely as you are seated there, I am not the plain, and humble, and obscure Charles Hatfield--but the _Lord Viscount Marston_, heir to the Earldom of Ellingham!” Mrs. Fitzhardinge restrained her surprise with the utmost presence of mind--exerting indeed an extraordinary power of self-controul; and, surveying him with an unblushing effrontery, she said, “Well, my lord, your lordship is at length led to confess who you really are!” “My lord”--“your lordship!”--Oh! how sweetly--how sweetly sounded those words on the ears of Charles Hatfield:--he forgot that he was the son of the resuscitated highwayman--he remembered not that his sire had passed through the ordeal of a scaffold: he heard only that he was saluted with a title of nobility; and already did it seem as if half his ambition were gratified. “Madam,” he said, at length recovering his self-possession, and subduing as much as possible the wildness of that joy which had seized upon him, “then it appears you were acquainted with my right to a title of nobility?” “I was,” she answered, with an air of the most perfect truthfulness: “and believing _you_ to be ignorant of that fact, I was anxious to make the revelation to your lordship.” “You are consequently acquainted with every thing that regards me?” continued Charles, not perceiving, in the still elated condition of his mind, that the question was foolish became it embraced a vague and undefined generality. “Everything, my lord,” returned Mrs. Fitzhardinge, repeating the titular appellation, because in her latent shrewdness she saw full well the pleasure that its swelling sound afforded to the young man. “This is most strange--most singular!” cried Charles, musing audibly: “for I came hither with the intention of revealing all--every thing--to your Perdita, through whom you would have learnt the entire particulars in the course of this day;--and, behold! I am anticipated--for you already are as well acquainted with those most mysterious circumstances as I myself! But may I ask, madam,” he exclaimed, turning abruptly towards Mrs. Fitzhardinge,--“may I ask how you came to know that Mr. Hatfield is my father, and that he is the rightful Earl of Ellingham, legitimately born?”