change every line of the countenance. “This, then, I suppose, was what my father meant,” he said. “Your father! What did he say? Did he warn you? Val, I would not be hard upon your father--but we are reaping the whirlwind, you and me, for the wind he has sown.” “He told me that all a man’s antecedents, all the secrets of his life were raked up. He should have said, the secrets of other people’s lives,” said Val, with a short and bitter laugh. Then he added, dropping his voice, “I suppose it is all true.” “All true to the facts, that is the devilishness of it. Val, can your recollection carry you further back than your coming here?” Val shook his head. A deep, hot, crimson flush covered his face. How could he put into shape the vague reminiscences as of a dream--of childish wanderings, sports, and troubles. He recollected nothing that could be put into words, and yet something like the confused images of a dream. “Is she living still--my mother?” he said, in a very low voice. “For all we know,” said Lord Eskside. “If she was dead, I think we must have heard somehow. I have often thought you ought to be told, Val. God knows, many a hard hour’s thinking it’s given me. You had a brother, too. Probably he is dead long ago; for children die, I hear, like sheep, with all the exposure of that wild life.” Val shuddered in spite of himself. His brother had faded away altogether out of his recollection, and he felt but little interest in the suggestion of him. No doubt he must be dead long ago. Val could not realise himself in such a relationship. It was impossible. He escaped from the thought of it. The thought of a mother, and such a mother, was sufficiently bewildering and painful. “But there is time enough for considering this part of the subject,” said the old lord. “In the mean time, Val, I’ve been at Castleton, working hard all day. I have seen almost everybody it was important to see.” “Why did you not take me with you? If I had but known----” “It was better you should not know. I did better without you. They all know the true state of the case now--and you are prepared to meet them. And, Val, I may say to you, which is of more importance than saying it to them--that though that devilish paper is true enough, I am as sure you are my son Richard’s son, as if you had never left my sight since the day you were born.” Val looked at him with hasty surprise. The tears came in a rush to the young man’s eyes. “Do you need to tell me this, grandfather?” he cried piteously, and covered his face with his hands. All that he had read had not made his position real to him, like those words from the old man, whom he had so confidently laid claim to all his life.