This was all she said.
Spunyarn resumed his seat at the fireside. Then there was a long silence, which neither seemed disposed to break.
At last with an effort he spoke. "What is to be done, dear madam? I wish the secret had remained in the dead man's keeping; it is a dreadful responsibility. Can it be still kept?"
"It is my duty towards my dead husband, Lord Spunyarn," she said decisively.
"But you have another duty, dear lady; a duty to your son and a duty to the old man here, who looks on Lucius as his heir."
"My son must suffer with me, Lord Spunyarn, for his father's fault."
Spunyarn shook his head. "Not so, dear lady; there is but one way, one possible way, to preserve the reputation of those who are gone and to do justice, for justice must be done. Pit Town must know; for others, taking the lowest standpoint, may possess the secret, and the honour of the family must not be compromised. Lucius must efface himself, that is the only course."
"Efface himself, Lord Spunyarn? I know the boy, the orphan boy; he was my husband's child; and with all his faults I love him; he will never consent to that; he would die first," said Reginald Haggard's widow.
"And die he must, I mean socially. There is no other way."
"He will never consent, Lord Spunyarn," repeated the widow. "He is wrapped up in the fact that he is Lord Pit Town's heir. With George it is different; he is my own son, my very son," she added bitterly, "and, if I wish it, he will give up everything for my sake and his father's; his father's honour is as dear to him as it is to me. Besides, my husband evidently foresaw the dilemma in which he has placed us, and made the boy his heir."