“What did you then do with it?”

“I retained it in my possession, and at the earliest opportunity secreted it within my own room.”

“It was in your possession during the following evening and night?”

“It was.”

“Mr. Mainwaring,” said Mr. Sutherland, with marked emphasis, “please state whether you mentioned to Hugh Mainwaring the discovery of the will, or had any conversation with him relating thereto.”

“I made no mention of the matter to him whatever.  Except for a few moments, immediately upon his return, I did not see him alone until about midnight, when he appeared fatigued, and I would not introduce the subject at a time so inopportune.”

After a slight pause, Mr. Sutherland continued.  “You claim to be the lawful son of the Harold Scott Mainwaring mentioned in this will, and as such the lawful heir, under its terms and conditions, of the Mainwaring property?”

“I do.”

“Has it not been generally understood among those supposed to have knowledge of the facts in the case that Harold Scott Mainwaring, at the time of his death, had no living child?”

“That has been the general understanding.”

“Will you explain how the fact of your existence has been kept concealed all these years?”

The silence following the attorney’s question was so deep as to be oppressive until broken by the answer of the witness, clear, cold, and penetrating to the remotest corner of the crowded room.

“Within an hour from my birth, a dead child was substituted in my place, and I was secretly given by my father into the keeping of trusted friends, with instructions that until I had nearly attained my majority I was not even to know of his existence, or of the relationship existing between us.”

“Mr. Mainwaring,” said the attorney, “are you willing to state the reasons for such an extraordinary proceeding on his part?”

For the first time the impassive bearing and the calm, even tones of the witness gave way; the smouldering fire in his dark eyes burst forth, as with impassioned utterance and voice vibrating with emotion, he replied,-

“It was done because of sorrow, more bitter than death, in his own heart and home, of which he wished me to know nothing until I had reached the years of manhood and could understand the nature of his wrongs; it was done that I should be forever barred from all association with, or knowledge of, the base, false-hearted woman who bore his name only to dishonor it, — who, though she had given me; birth, yet believed me dead, — that I might live as ignorant of her existence as she of mine; it was done because of his love for his only child, a love for which I would to-day gladly suffer dishonor and even death, if I could but avenge his wrongs!”

Only Harold Mainwaring’s attorneys understood the spirit which prompted his words, but they carried his audience with him in a sudden wave of sympathy, and as he paused, men applauded and women sobbed, while the judge vainly rapped for order.