"The Marquess has sent for you that you may hear something he has resolved to tell you," he said, in a low voice.
The Marquess opened his eyes and looked round; then they fixed themselves on Heyton, whom Mrs. Dexter had summoned, and who stood regarding the group sullenly.
"Yes," said the Marquess, feebly, but quite distinctly. "I want to tell you that this is my brother"—his hand reached for Mr. Clendon's—"my elder brother. He is Lord Sutcombe, not I. He disappeared and was supposed to have died. I knew some months ago that he was alive, but——"
"Yielding to my earnest entreaty, my command, my brother consented to conceal the fact," said Mr. Clendon, gravely.
"Yes, but it was wrong, Wilfred; and it was foolish," said the Marquess. His eyes went to his son. "I am sorry, Percy. I believed that he was dead; but I should have told you the moment I discovered the truth. Yes, I see now that it was my duty to have done so."
Heyton had stood staring at the two old men dully; his sodden brain did not realize at first the importance of the avowal; then the blood rushed to his face and he stammered:
"What's all this? What's the meaning of this cock-and-bull story? I—I don't understand. You don't suppose I'm going to cave in, accept this fairytale? I'm your son—I'm the next in succession——"
"Yes," said the Marquess, with a deep sigh, and a look at his son which Heyton understood and quailed from. "My brother is not married; you are his heir—after me."
"I did not say I was not married, Talbot," said Mr. Clendon, almost inaudibly. "I said that I had no son. But we will not dwell on that. If I could have had my desire, the truth, my identity, would have been buried with me."
"No, no," panted the Marquess; "even if you had not come to-day, I should have told the truth, Wilfred. Would to God I had told it before!"