’A promise!  Well, I don’t know what it’s about, you know.  I don’t like promises in the dark.’

’Then I must leave it to your honour; for what I have to say must be said.  You remember my brother, Scatcherd?’

Remember his brother! thought the rich man to himself.  The name of the doctor’s brother had not been alluded to between them since the days of that trial; but still it was impossible but that Scatcherd should well remember him.

‘Yes, yes; certainly.  I remember your brother,’ said he.  ’I remember him well; there’s no doubt about that.’

‘Well, Scatcherd,’ and, as he spoke, the doctor laid his hand with kindness on the other’s arm.  ’Mary’s eldest child was my brother’s child as well.

‘But there is no such child living,’ said Sir Roger; and, in his violence, as he spoke he threw from off him the bedclothes, and tried to stand up on the floor.  He found, however, that he had no strength for such an effort, and was obliged to remain leaning on the bed and resting on the doctor’s arm.

‘There was no such child ever lived,’ said he.  ’What do you mean by this?’

Dr Thorne would say nothing further till he had got the man into bed again.  This he at last affected, and then he went on with the story in his own way.

’Yes, Scatcherd, that child is alive; and for fear that you should unintentionally make her your heir, I have thought it right to tell you this.’

‘A girl, is it?’

‘Yes, a girl.’

’And why should you want to spite her?  If she is Mary’s child, she is your brother’s child also.  If she is my niece, she must be your niece also.  Why should you want to spite her?  Why should you try to do her such a terrible injury?’

‘I do not want to spite her.’

‘Where is she?  Who is she?  What is she called?  Where does she live?’

The doctor did not at once answer all these questions.  He had made up his mind that he would tell Sir Roger that this child was living, but he had not as yet resolved to make known all the circumstances of her history.  He was not even yet quite aware whether it would be necessary to say that this foundling orphan was the cherished darling of his own house.

‘Such a child, is, at any rate, living,’ said he; ’of that I give you my assurance; and under your will, as now worded, it might come to pass that that child should be your heir.  I do not want to spite her, but I should be wrong to let you make your will without such knowledge, seeing that I am in possession of it myself.’

‘But where is the girl?’

‘I do not know that that signifies.’

’Signifies!  Yes; it does signify, a great deal.  But, Thorne, Thorne, now that I remember it, now that I can think of things, it was—­was it not you yourself who told me that the baby did not live?’

‘Very possibly.’

‘And was it a lie that you told me?’