“I know it,” she answered, sighing heavily, and sinking back to the sofa again; “you can go back, as for me”——
Cora broke off and began to weep. I was glad of that, poor thing. Since the first day she had not wept in my presence after our adventure in the Highlands. I left her unmolested, and went on talking with Chaleco more connectedly than we had yet conversed. In a little time he convinced me that my birth was legitimate, and my claims as heiress to Lord Clare would scarcely admit of dispute. The chain of evidence was complete. Though driven away for a little time, Chaleco had hovered around Greenhurst, till assured that I had found a protector, then he lingered in England under various disguises, till I was safe under the roof from which my mother had fled. More than once he had penetrated to my sick chamber, where I lay delirious with fever, when I was by chance left alone, or when the nurse slept at night. Again and again he had visited England after that, assuring himself still of my welfare and identity. In short, from the time of my mother’s death he had never lost sight of me, and up to that period the evidence of old Turner, his wife, and the Scotch farmer, left no thread wanting in the tissue of my claim.
“And if this is so, what steps must be taken?” I inquired.
“They are taken,” answered the gipsy, “Lady Catherine has been notified, so has her son.”
“Well, have they returned any reply?”
“The lady is here.”
“In London?”
“Yes, in London.”
“Did the mother come alone?” I inquired, observing that Cora had risen to her elbow, and was eagerly regarding us.
Feeling that, like myself, she was anxious to know if Irving was in town and was with the family, I asked the question, half in kindness to her, half to still my own craving desire for knowledge on this point.