“Reserving my right of objection, Sir Patrick,” he answered, “I beg you to go on.”

To the surprise of every body, Sir Patrick addressed himself directly to Blanche—­quoting the language in which Lady Lundie had spoken to him, with perfect composure of tone and manner.

“You know me well enough, my dear,” he said, “to be assured that I am incapable of willingly harrowing your feelings or misleading your judgment.  I have a question to ask you, which you can answer or not, entirely as you please.”

Before he could put the question there was a momentary contest between Lady Lundie and her legal adviser.  Silencing her ladyship (not without difficulty), the London lawyer interposed.  He also begged leave to reserve the right of objection, so far as his client was concerned.

Sir Patrick assented by a sign, and proceeded to put his question to Blanche.

“You have heard what Arnold Brinkworth has said, and what Miss Silvester has said,” he resumed.  “The husband who loves you, and the sisterly friend who loves you, have each made a solemn declaration.  Recall your past experience of both of them; remember what they have just said; and now tell me—­do you believe they have spoken falsely?”

Blanche answered on the instant.

“I believe, uncle, they have spoken the truth!”

Both the lawyers registered their objections.  Lady Lundie made another attempt to speak, and was stopped once more—­this time by Mr. Moy as well as by her own adviser.  Sir Patrick went on.

“Do you feel any doubt as to the entire propriety of your husband’s conduct and your friend’s conduct, now you have seen them and heard them, face to face?”

Blanche answered again, with the same absence of reserve.

“I ask them to forgive me,” she said.  “I believe I have done them both a great wrong.”

She looked at her husband first—­then at Anne.  Arnold attempted to leave his chair.  Sir Patrick firmly restrained him.  “Wait!” he whispered.  “You don’t know what is coming.”  Having said that, he turned toward Anne.  Blanche’s look had gone to the heart of the faithful woman who loved her.  Anne’s face was turned away—­the tears were forcing themselves through the worn weak hands that tried vainly to hide them.

The formal objections of the lawyers were registered once more.  Sir Patrick addressed himself to his niece for the last time.

“You believe what Arnold Brinkworth has said; you believe what Miss Silvester has said.  You know that not even the thought of marriage was in the mind of either of them, at the inn.  You know—­whatever else may happen in the future—­that there is not the most remote possibility of either of them consenting to acknowledge that they ever have been, or ever can be, Man and Wife.  Is that enough for you?  Are you willing, before this inquiry proceeds any farther to take your husband’s hand; to return to your husband’s protection; and to leave the rest to me—­satisfied with my assurance that, on the facts as they happened, not even the Scotch Law can prove the monstrous assertion of the marriage at Craig Fernie to be true?”