"Oh! Estelle, my daughter, is it true?" cried the duke. "Is it—can it be true?"
Estelle's only answer was a series of heartbreaking sobs.
"It is true, your grace," said the earl. "If any suffering could undo it, I would suffer the extremity of torture. I repent with my whole heart; let me pray your grace not to turn a deaf ear to my repentance."
The duke made no answer, but laid his head on his clasped hands.
"I had better tell you all," continued the earl, in a low voice. "We were married. I call Heaven to witness that the fault was all mine, and that I intended to act loyally, honorably, and truthfully to my dear wife; but we were unfortunate. I was proud and jealous, she was proud and impatient; she taunted me always by saying the Studleighs were all faithless. We quarreled at last, and both of us were too proud to be the first to seek forgiveness. Then, in a fit of desperate rage, I exchanged into a regiment ordered to India, and, with the exception of one letter, no word has been exchanged between us since."
The duke did not raise his head.
The duchess gave a long, shuddering moan.
"There is one thing more—oh, Heaven! how could I be so cruel?—when I had been gone some five months, my poor wife, my unhappy wife, became a mother."
"I do not believe it!" cried the duke. "I will not believe it! It is an infamous lie."
"It is the solemn truth, your grace."