My eyes had been upon the face of my uncle as he listened, but now as I turned them from him they fell once more upon the thin, wolfish face of Sir Lothian Hume. He stood near the window, his grey silhouette thrown up against the square of dusty glass; and I have never seen such a play of evil passions, of anger, of jealousy, of disappointed greed upon a human face before.
“Am I to understand,” said he, in a loud, harsh voice, “that this young man claims to be the heir of the peerage of Avon?”
“He is my lawful son.”
“I knew you fairly well, sir, in our youth; but you will allow me to observe that neither I nor any friend of yours ever heard of a wife or a son. I defy Sir Charles Tregellis to say that he ever dreamed that there was any heir except myself.”
“I have already explained, Sir Lothian, why I kept my marriage secret.”
“You have explained, sir; but it is for others in another place to say if that explanation is satisfactory.”
Two blazing dark eyes flashed out of the pale haggard face with as strange and sudden an effect as if a stream of light were to beat through the windows of a shattered and ruined house.
“You dare to doubt my word?”
“I demand a proof.”
“My word is proof to those who know me.”