Lady Lundie rose.  Both the lawyers rose.  Arnold sat lost in astonishment.  Geoffrey himself—­brutishly careless thus far of all that had passed—­lifted his head with a sudden start.  In the midst of the profound impression thus produced, Blanche, on whose decision the whole future course of the inquiry now turned, answered in these words: 

“I hope you will not think me ungrateful, uncle.  I am sure that Arnold has not, knowingly, done me any wrong.  But I can’t go back to him until I am first certain that I am his wife.”

Lady Lundie embraced her step-daughter with a sudden outburst of affection.  “My dear child!” exclaimed her ladyship, fervently.  “Well done, my own dear child!”

Sir Patrick’s head dropped on his breast.  “Oh, Blanche!  Blanche!” Arnold heard him whisper to himself; “if you only knew what you are forcing me to!”

Mr. Moy put in his word, on Blanche’s side of the question.

“I must most respectfully express my approval also of the course which the young lady has taken,” he said.  “A more dangerous compromise than the compromise which we have just heard suggested it is difficult to imagine.  With all deference to Sir Patrick Lundie, his opinion of the impossibility of proving the marriage at Craig Fernie remains to be confirmed as the right one.  My own professional opinion is opposed to it.  The opinion of another Scottish lawyer (in Glasgow) is, to my certain knowledge, opposed to it.  If the young lady had not acted with a wisdom and courage which do her honor, she might have lived to see the day when her reputation would have been destroyed, and her children declared illegitimate.  Who is to say that circumstances may not happen in the future which may force Mr. Brinkworth or Miss Silvester—­one or the other—­to assert the very marriage which they repudiate now?  Who is to say that interested relatives (property being concerned here) may not in the lapse of years, discover motives of their own for questioning the asserted marriage in Kent?  I acknowledge that I envy the immense self-confidence which emboldens Sir Patrick to venture, what he is willing to venture upon his own individual opinion on an undecided point of law.”

He sat down amidst a murmur of approval, and cast a slyly-expectant look at his defeated adversary.  “If that doesn’t irritate him into showing his hand,” thought Mr. Moy, “nothing will!”

Sir Patrick slowly raised his head.  There was no irritation—­there was only distress in his face—­when he spoke next.

“I don’t propose, Mr. Moy, to argue the point with you,” he said, gently.  “I can understand that my conduct must necessarily appear strange and even blameworthy, not in your eyes only, but in the eyes of others.  My young friend here will tell you” (he looked toward Arnold) “that the view which you express as to the future peril involved in this case was once the view in my mind too, and that in what I have done thus far I have acted in