“No. His birth was a mystery to him, as it was to every one except me and his mother. He believes himself to be the son of Byrne Stukely, and that is the reason why his tongue has been tied, so that he will not give the evidence that will clear himself and go near to hang Stukely.” “I see! I see!” “But he shall give it to-morrow, and be set at liberty. I shall see to that. Here we are again at the door of our hotel. Shall we go in? Or have you anything else to ask me?” questioned the squire. “No; nothing else to-night. Let us go in.” The two gentlemen entered the house, got their chamber keys from the sleepy watchman, and went upstairs. The public parlors were dark and deserted. The gas burned low in the halls. The earl and the squire bade each other good-night and separated, and went off to their several apartments. Mr. Force climbed another flight of stairs to seek the little room he had occupied since his wife’s illness. He paused at the door of her sick chamber and knocked lightly. The night nurse answered the summons. “How is Mrs. Force this evening?” he inquired. “She is better, sir, and she is sleeping nicely,” replied the woman. “Thank Heaven! Good-night,” said the squire, as he turned away and entered his own little room. He retired to bed, too happy to sleep until near morning, when at length he sank to rest. CHAPTER XLIII HUSBAND AND WIFE It was late in the morning when Abel Force was awakened by a gentle tapping at his chamber door. “Who is there?” he inquired, as he hastily arose, thrust his feet into slippers, drew on his dressing gown, and opened the door. “It is I, papa,” said Wynnette, in a cheerful voice, and with a bright smile, that at once dispelled the squire’s fears for his wife, which had been aroused by the summons. “How is your mother?” he inquired. “She is better, papa. She is awake now. Dr. Bolton says that we may see her, but only one at a time. I thought you would like to be the first, so I came to call you. I did not know that you were still asleep. It is late, you see.” “Yes, it is late; but I was up nearly all night. Thank Heaven that your mother is better. Come in, Wynnette.” “Hadn’t I better leave you to dress, papa?” “Presently. But I wish to send a line by you to your mother before I go to her. I will dress while you take it.” Wynnette entered the room, closed the door, and sat down on the side of the little bed to wait for the “line.” Mr. Force went to the small stand, and wrote: “Dearest dear, I have read your paper, and I love you as ever—more than ever, if that were possible; for love is deepened and sanctified by sympathy with all that you have suffered. Send me word by our Wynnette if you feel well enough to see me. I am longing to be with you.” He folded the paper and gave it to his daughter, saying: