"He seems to have been a fascinating man," said George, smiling, to set Ireland at his ease. "But this Lola is the daughter of the woman you mention. It was she who found the church." By this time Ireland was quite awake, and keenly anxious for details. "How did she learn its name?" he demanded quickly. "She found it in the confession of Mrs. Jersey." Ireland snapped the paper-cutter he was holding, and, leaning back in his chair, looked anxiously at George. "What do you mean?" "Well," replied the young man, keeping his eyes fixed on Ireland's face, "it seems that Mrs. Jersey left a confession behind her as to what took place at San Remo." "Who has that confession?" "I have! I got it from Lola!" "And how did she manage to obtain it?" For answer George related how Lola had called to see Mrs. Jersey, and how she had managed to steal the confession. "It was from reading it," finished George, "that she learned of the church in which my parents were married. Desiring that I should marry her, and thinking I would not do as were my birth proved, she went to the church to destroy the registers. She was caught with the torn leaves, and arrested." "Arrested?" "Yes. I wonder you did not see the case reported in the papers." "I have been too ill to read the papers lately," said Ireland, looking round the room in rather a helpless way, "and none of my servants told me. What happened?" "Oh, Lola was let off with a small fine. She is now back dancing at her music-hall. She gave the confession to me." "Did any one else see it--the authorities?" "No. You can set your mind at rest, Mr. Ireland. I got it from Lola before she was taken to prison. No one had seen it but myself and Lord Derrington." Ireland drew a long breath of relief. "You made a strange remark just now, George," he said, not looking at the young man. "You told me to set my mind at rest. Why did you say that?" "I have read the confession," said George, quietly. Mr. Ireland rose from his chair and began to pace the room. He seemed so weak that George wished him to return, but the old man waved his hand impatiently. "It's all right--it's all right," he said, then stopped opposite to George. "Then you know?" "I know that my father's death was due to an accident." "What! Did that wretched woman tell the truth?" "She told the truth." "And she did not accuse me of having murdered your father?" "No. She did not. I suppose she thought it was as well to go to her long home with as few sins as possible on her conscience. But she certainly exonerated you." "Thank God for that," said Ireland, and returned to his seat. Then he looked at his visitor in a piteous manner. "George," he said in faltering tones, "I have suffered greatly on account of that most unhappy accident----" "I am sure you must have, sir. But don't let it worry you any more. It was an accident, and both Lord Derrington and I heartily forgive you for having been the unconscious cause of my father's death."