She had covered the child’s legs from sight; but not his back--nor the brown mole on it--the large brown mole, ringed like Saturn, set obliquely between the shoulder-blades. She rose from the bed slowly. Honoria turned on little George with a gesture as if to fling off his velvet jacket. But Lizzie stamped her foot. “No,” she commanded hoarsely; “let be. Mine is a cripple.” “So it is true....” Honoria desisted; but her eyes were wide and still fixed on the bed. “Yes, it is true. You have all the luck. Mine is a cripple.” Still Honoria stared. Lizzie gulped down something in her throat; but her voice, when she found it again, was still hoarse and strained. “And now--go! You have learnt what you came for. You have won, because you stop at nothing. But go, before I try to kill you for the joy in your heart!” “Joy?” Honoria put out a hand toward the bed’s foot, to steady herself. It was her turn to be weak. “Yes--joy.” Lizzie stepped between her and the door, pointed a finger at her, and held it pointing. “In your heart you are glad already. Wait, and in a moment I shall see it in your eyes--glad, glad! Yes, your man was worthless, and you are glad. But oh! You bitter fool!” “Let me go, please.” “Listen a bit; no hurry now. Plenty of time to be glad ’twas only your husband, not the man of your heart. Look at me, and answer-- I don’t count for much now, do I? Not much to hate in me, now you know the name of my child’s father, and that ’tisn’ Taffy Raymond!” “Let me go.” But seeing that Lizzie would not, she stopped and kissed her boy. “Run out to the carriage, dear, and say I’ll be coming in a minute or two.” Little George clung to her wistfully, but her tone meant obedience. Lizzie stepped aside to let him pass out. “Now,” said Honoria, “the next room is best, I think. Lead me there, and I will listen.” “You may go if you like.” “No; I will listen. Between us two there is--there is--” “_That_.” Lizzie nodded towards the child huddling low in the bed. “That, and much more. We cannot stop at the point you’ve reached. Besides, I have a question to ask.” Lizzie passed before her into the front room, lit two candles and drew down the blind. “Ask it,” she said. “How did you know that I believed the other--Mr. Raymond--to be--” She came to a halt. “I guessed.” “What? From the beginning?” “No; it was after a long while. And then, all of a sudden, something seemed to make me clever.” “Did you know that, believing it, I had done him a great wrong-- injured his life beyond repair?” “I knew something had happened: that he’d given up being a gentleman and taken to builder’s work. I thought maybe you were at the bottom of it. Who was it told you lies about en?” “Must I answer that?” “No; no need. George Vyell was a nice fellow; but he was a liar. Couldn’t help it, I b’lieve. But a dirty trick like that--well, well!” Honoria stared at her, confounded. “You never loved my husband?”