‘Mr. Erin,’ said Mr. Wallis gravely, ‘if you see me in no way moved by the infamous accusation you have made against me, and even restraining a still more natural indignation at the dishonour your words have cast upon that innocent girl, it is not because I do not feel it; it is because I pity you from the bottom of my heart. That you have been duped and fooled by the falsehood of this unhappy young man is only what has happened to others, myself amongst them; but in your own case the reflection must be infinitely more bitter, since he who wrought the wrong was your own flesh and blood—one who has taken your bread, and bitten the hand that fed him. If you do not believe us, Miss Margaret has his own words for it in black and white.’ Here Margaret drew the confession from her bosom, and laid it on the table beside her uncle; his fingers were grasping the arms of his chair, and his face was fixed full upon his visitor in hate and rage. ‘If you will read it at your leisure,’ continued the lawyer gently, ‘you will at least have the satisfaction of knowing that, with one exception, no one has had any hand in this shameful fraud save the miserable lad himself; that your niece was as innocent of any knowledge in it, from first to last, as you were; so much even those who have been inclined to suspect you of any connivance in it must needs acknowledge when they read that paper——’ Mr. Erin leaped from his chair, with an inarticulate cry of fury, and seizing the confession before him, tore it from left to right, and from right to left, into a hundred pieces. ‘Begone,’ he cried, ‘begone, both of you! Take her with you, I say, lest I do her a mischief; take her to the Perjurer, send her to the devil for all I care; but never let me see her false face again!’ With that he threw himself out of the room like one demented, and after the door had clanged behind him they heard his heavy step at first at a speed beyond his years, but presently with the tread of exhaustion and old age, creep up to his own room. ‘Is it safe to leave him, think you?’ inquired Mr. Wallis in a hushed voice. ‘Once convinced of the truth, his reflections must be terrible. To be deceived by one’s own flesh and blood!’ ‘William Henry is not his son,’ said Margaret quietly; in a time of anguish and distress it is easy to speak of matters which under ordinary circumstances we should shrink from mentioning.