“What evidence?”

“The certificate of your other marriage.  It is here.”

“How came you by it?” she inquired eagerly.

“No matter, it is all in proper form; you could not contest it, understand.”

“Well?  I never pretended when I gave my hand to Colonel Wilders that I had not been married before.  He was well aware of it.”

“But not that your first husband was alive at the time.”

“It is false!  He was dead—­drowned; he drowned himself in the Seine.”

“Your first husband is alive still, and you know it.  You have seen him yourself within these last few days.  He is ready to come forward at any time.  It is he in fact who has furnished us with these proofs.”

“I shall protest, dispute, contest this to the uttermost.  It is a base, discreditable plot against a weak, helpless, defenceless woman,” said Mrs. Wilders with effrontery; but despair was in her heart.

How Ledantec has deceived her!

“Is that all you have to say to me?” she went on at length after another pause.  “You, Lord Essendine—­my husband’s relative and friend, one of the richest and proudest men in this purse-proud land—­how chivalrous, how brave of you, to bring me here to load me with vile aspersions, to rob me of my character; my child, my little friendless orphan boy, of the inheritance which is his by right of birth!”

“Do not let us get into recriminations, madam,” said Lord Essendine, speaking for the first time.  “It is to speak of your boy, mainly, that I wished for this interview.”

“Poor child!”

“Whatever blot may stain his birth, I cannot forget that he has Wilders’s blood in his veins.  He is Cousin Bill’s son still.”

“You admit so much?  Many thanks,” she sneered.  “And since these heavy blows have struck us, blow after blow, he is the sole survivor of the house.  I am willing—­nay, anxious—­to recognise him.”

“Indeed!  How truly generous of you!” There was no telling whether the speech was genuine, or another sneer.

“He cannot bear the title, but I can make him my heir.  He may succeed to the position in due course—­I hardly care how soon.”

“Are you mocking me, Lord Essendine?”

“I am in sober earnest.  I will do what I say, but only on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“That you give up the child, absolutely, and forever.”

“What! part with the only thing left me to love and cherish—­”

“One moment, madam,” interposed the lawyers “before your emotion overpowers you.  We happen to be able to judge of the extent of your affection for your only son.”

“How so?”

“We know you care so little for him that for month, you never see the child.  It was left in England when you went to the Crimea—­”

“With my husband.  Besides, I could not have made a nursery of Lord Lydstone’s yacht.”

“And since you settled in London you have sent it to a nurse in the country.”