“It is the white angel! the beautiful—beautiful——”
She broke off, all in a glow of delight, for that moment Varnham entered the hall, leading Mary Derwent by the hand. They were followed by a young man, with a female leaning on his arm, and behind them all came an old lady, who looked half-terrified by the magnificence into which she had been introduced.
Butler looked on this intrusion dumb with astonishment, for the whole group was known to him. At last, rage brought back his speech; with a flushed face and unequal step he advanced to meet the young couple, for there his fury concentrated itself.
“Edward Clark, and you, Jane Derwent, I do not know what has brought you here, or how you have crossed the Atlantic, but permit me to say that this house is mine, and it receives no guests whom I do not invite.”
Before Clark could answer, Varnham stepped back and confronted the angry man, with Mary on his arm.
“You mistake,” he said, gently; “this house belongs to Lady Granby’s daughter; you cannot be its master.”
Butler broke into an insulting laugh, and beckoned Tahmeroo with his finger.
“It did belong to Lady Granby’s daughter; but my squaw will tell you that it is now deeded to me, and these gentlemen can prove that it was done by her own free act.”
“Indeed,” said Varnham, casting a compassionate glance on Tahmeroo; “but she will fail to give you any claim here. This young lady is Lady Granby’s daughter, born in her first and only legal marriage; even your wife has no right at Ashton, save as the half-sister of the young countess.”
Here Mary reached out her hand towards Tahmeroo, with a look of tender humility, as if she begged pardon for being the elder and the legal child of their common mother.