Margaret strove to speak, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. It was shocking to see the old man’s rage, and none the less so because it was so misdirected. If his passion was so aroused by the mere opposition (as he supposed it to be) to his will, how would he take the destruction of his hopes, and the knowledge that he had been made a public laughing-stock? Whatever he had been to others, he had been kind to her; and, abhorrent to her as was the crime of ingratitude, she would have been willing to rest under its imputation if by so doing she could have spared him the revelation of the truth. ‘Dear uncle,’ she presently murmured, with faltering voice, and laying her little hand upon the old man’s arm, ‘you wrong me in your thoughts; but that is nothing as compared with the wrong which has been done to _you_. All between William Henry and me is over; for the rest of my life I will endeavour to supply his place with you, and to remedy, as far as in me lies, the evil that he has committed against you.’ ‘What is it? What is she saying? I do not understand,’ inquired the antiquary in trembling tones. ‘She is telling you the truth, sir,’ said Mr. Wallis impressively. ‘Heaven send you the strength to bear it!’ ‘Dear uncle, you have been deceived,’ said Margaret with tender gravity. ‘From first to last you have been deceived, as we all have been. The Shakespeare manuscripts, of which you thought so much, are forgeries—every one of them. William Henry has confessed it.’ ‘You lie, you baggage, you lie!’ he cried with fury. ‘I wish I did,’ sighed Margaret bitterly. He did not hear her; there was a singing in his ears that shut out all other sounds. ‘So this is the last card you have to play, you two, is it? I am to be frightened into compliance with your wishes; frightened into annihilating common sense, and making two beggars happy! And you, _you_, sir!’ he added, turning to Mr. Wallis; ‘you are not ashamed to be a confederate in such a scheme as this? These two young fools think it is for their sake, but I know better. You are one of Malone’s creatures. Having already failed by fair means to disprove the genuineness of these manuscripts, you have bought over this ungrateful lad to your side. “If you will perjure yourself,“ you have said to him, “and admit yourself to be a forger, we will see that you do not lose by it; we will give you money—since the old man will not—upon which you and yours can subsist together.“ Oh, liars and villains!’ It was pitiful to see and hear him. King Lear himself, deserted by his own flesh and blood and invoking heaven’s vengeance on them, could hardly have been a more dreadful spectacle.