“Well, I have that man under my hand. He and Mrs. Shackleton are the only living witnesses of the transaction whereby your mother and you passed into Moreau’s keeping. And I have him. I’ve got him here.” He made a gesture with his thumb as though pressing the ball of it down on something. Then he looked at Mariposa with eyes full of an eager cupidity. She did not respond with the show of interest he had expected, but stood looking down, pale and motionless. Her brain was in an appalled chaos from which stood out only a few facts. This terrible man knew her secret--the secret of her mother’s life and honor--that she would have died to hide in the sacredness of her love for the dead man and woman who could no longer defend themselves. “It seems as if fate had sent me to help you,” he went on; “you couldn’t do it alone.” “Do what?” she asked without moving. “Establish your claim as the real heir. Of course you’re the chief heir. I’ve been looking it up. The others will get a share as acknowledged children. But you ought to get the bulk of the fortune as the only legitimate child.” “Establish my claim?” she repeated. “Do you mean, prove that I’m Jake Shackleton’s daughter?” “Yes. And there’s a tremendously important point. Did your mother have papers or letters showing that she had been Shackleton’s wife?” “She left her marriage certificate,” she said dully, hardly conscious of her words. “I have it.” “Here?--by you?” with quick curiosity. “Yes; upstairs--in my little desk.” “Ah,” he said, with almost a laugh of relief. “That settles it. You with the certificate and I with Harney! Why, we’ve got them.” “We?” she said, looking up as though waking. “We?” “Yes; we,” he answered. He had come close to her and, standing at her side, bent his head in order to look more directly into her face. “This ought to put an end, dear, to your objections,” he said gently; “you can’t do it alone. No woman could, much less one like you--young, inexperienced, ignorant of the world. You’ve got no idea what a big contest like this means. There must be a man to help you, and I must be that man, Mariposa. We can marry quietly as soon as you are ready. It would be better not to make any move until after that, as it would be much easier for me to conduct the campaign as your husband than as your fiancé. I’d take the whole thing off your shoulders. You’d have almost nothing to do, except be certain of your memories and dates, and I’d see to it that you were letter perfect in that when the time came. I’d stand between you and everything that was disagreeable.” He took her hand, which for the moment was passive in his. “When will it be?” he said, giving it a gentle squeeze; “when, sweetheart?” She tore her hand away.