“Enough of this nonsense,” thought the visitor, and, turning roughly on Mrs. Loftus, she said, “I wish Rata to remain here—it is essential”; and then, turning quickly to Rata, she added, “If you are so naturally inquisitive, has it never occurred to you to wonder who you are?”
“Oh, my God!” murmured Mrs. Loftus under her breath, “it has come! Rata, as you love me, leave me here alone with Lady Foxrock,” and she half rose and stretched out an appealing arm.
“No, dearest; if there is going to be trouble, I will stand by you. As to wondering who I am, Leonora,” now facing the lady, “why should I, when I know that I am Rata Loftus?”
“By all accounts, you have cherished a delusion. You are no more to Mrs. Loftus than to me—you are an adopted child. Mrs. Loftus adopted you, when you were two years old.”
“Well, even so, she is my mother,” coming over and taking her hand. “I could not love her more if she were ten times my mother.” And she raised her eyes defiantly to Lady Foxrock.
“Yes—yes,” faltered the miserable Mrs. Loftus. “Yes, darling; you are not my real child. I hoped you would never, never know—and now!”—looking at Lady Foxrock—“is not that enough? Rata has always been to Edgar and me as our very, very own.”
“Enough!” echoed the visitor, “no, not nearly enough—not half enough. The girl should be made acquainted with her own race. Do you think I will stand by in silence and allow my only brother, the future head of the family, to marry a Maori?”
“A Maori! What nonsense!” cried Rata indignantly.
“Nevertheless, your own grandfather is still living,” she continued inexorably. “He is a chief called Ramparaha, and resides in a ‘Pa’——”
“There! you have killed her!” screamed the girl, rushing forward and catching Mrs. Loftus in her arms. Mrs. Loftus, whose blanched face had, during the above conversation, assumed a death-like hue, and who now collapsed without a word into a heap upon the sofa.