Had Wagram been a sufferer from weakness of heart it is highly probable that he would have fallen down dead there and then.
The shock was sudden and complete. As he stood gazing out through the open window its full meaning swept over his mind as in a very flash of blasting flame. He, Wagram of Hilversea, whose intense pride in and love of his noble inheritance and the almost illimitable opportunity for good which the position entailed upon him were as the very breath of life, now learned, all in a moment of time, that he was in reality Nobody of Nowhere—that he had not even a name. It seemed as though the very heavens had fallen upon him, crushing him to the dust.
“Not a soul need ever be one atom the wiser. It’s strictly between ourselves.”
It was the adventurer’s voice that had broken the awful silence. Wagram turned, wearily.
“You have proof of what you advance, I take it—sufficient and convincing proof?” he said.
“Oh yes; abundant. Look at this,” exhibiting a marriage certificate of many years back. “You can go down and compare notes with the original parish register; it isn’t a very long journey from here. Besides, your father will bear out what I say.”
Again the old man nodded feebly. He seemed incapable of speech.
Wagram took the certificate and examined it earnestly. It was from the register of a parish in a small county town. Then he handed it back.
“What have you received as hush-money over this business?” he said.
“Not a farthing until to-day. But the Squire has been very liberal, and has behaved like a thorough gentleman. You may rely upon it that no word will ever pass my lips.”