Lady Vera sits silent before this new, impending calamity with folded hands, her color coming and going fitfully, her dark eyes fixed steadfastly on the floor. Perhaps she does not realize in all its intensity this new horror. The pain she has already endured has numbed her feelings, or rendered her impervious to future sufferings. "You understand, do you not, Lady Vera," Sir Harry pursues, calling her attention reluctantly, "that your denial of ever having been buried makes a fearfully weak point in your case, should it ever be contested? All the evidence adduced goes to prove that Vera Campbell Noble really died to all appearance, and was buried. If you are compelled by law to prove your identity with that Vera, you will have to admit that burial, and prove your resurrection. Otherwise--I am telling you this in the greatest kindness, remember, dear Lady Vera--you may be branded as an adventuress and impostor, and ruthlessly bereft of the goodly heritage of Fairvale." She lifts her heavy eyes from the blank contemplation of the carpet, and looks at him thoughtfully. "You do not believe me an impostor, do you, Sir Harry?" she asks, sadly. "Not for an instant," replies the baronet, warmly. "Do you, Lady Clive?" "No, indeed, my dearest girl," replies her friend, with an emphatic caress. "Did Colonel Lockhart, before he went away?" she asks, with blushing hesitation. "Not at all," Sir Harry answers, decidedly. "Then surely no one will believe it," she says, thoughtfully. "You remember Vera Campbell's grave has been found empty." "Yes, but you remember you may be called on to prove your identity with Vera Campbell," he answers, gravely. "Leslie Noble unhesitatingly acknowledges me as his wife," she argues. "I do not know whether that fact would weigh strongly with a jury," he answers, thoughtfully. "To claim you, Lady Vera, so young, so lovely, above all, so wealthy, as his wife, cannot be without its subtle temptation to such a man as Leslie Noble. Rumor says that the Clevelands have almost beggared him by their lavish and ruinous extravagance, and that he hated the woman who bore his name. What more natural than that he should jump at the choice of exchanging his crumbling fortunes and despised partner for rank and wealth, and beauty and youth? Though I do not doubt your identity for one moment, Lady Vera, I am convinced that it could scarcely be proved in a court of law by the oath of Leslie Noble." As he pauses, coloring, and deeply sorry that it has seemed necessary to speak so plainly to her whom fate has already so rudely buffeted, she looks up at him with forced calmness and self-restraint. "What, then, do you deem it necessary that I should do in my own defense, Sir Harry?" she inquires.