“But you were thinking of him, and that he would have money to give a child proven to be his!”
“No, I never thought of it—never shall think of it!”
“There is no Rommany in that,” he muttered, “the blood does not speak there.”
Then speaking louder, he addressed me, pointing toward Marston Court.
“Look,” he said, fastening his wild eyes on my face, “that is a fine estate, and not tied up like Greenhurst to legal heirs; Lord Clare’s daughter might get that if she had proof of her birth before the earl dies. Had this nothing to do with your anxiety just now?”
“Nothing,” I replied, with a touch of scorn. “I do not want that estate, or any other.”
“Fool!” sneered the man; “if I believed you, the secret were not worth telling!”
“What secret?” I inquired, breathlessly; “can you tell me anything of my mother?”
“And if I did, what then?”
“I would worship you!”