“Hold there!” said Joseph; “my lord was incapable of such an action; If Master Edmund is the son of my lord, he is also the son of my lady.”
“How can that be,” said Edmund?
“I don’t know how,” said Joseph; “but there is a person who can tell if she will; I mean Margery Twyford, who calls herself your mother.”
“You meet my thoughts,” said Edmund; “I had resolved, before you spoke, to visit her, and to interrogate her on the subject; I will ask my Lord’s permission to go this very day.”
“That is right,” said Oswald; “but be cautious and prudent in your enquiries.”
“If you,” said Edmund, “would bear me company, I should do better; she might think herself obliged to answer your questions; and, being less interested in the event, you would be more discreet in your interrogations.”
“That I will most readily,” said he; “and I will ask my lord’s permission for us both.”
“This point is well determined,” said Joseph; “I am impatient for the result; and I believe my feet will carry me to meet you whether I consent or not.”
“I am as impatient as you,” said Oswald; “but let us be silent as the grave, and let not a word or look indicate any thing knowing or mysterious.”
The daylight began to dawn upon their conference; and Edmund, observing it, begged his friends to withdraw in silence. They did so, and left Edmund to his own recollections. His thoughts were too much employed for sleep to approach him; he threw himself upon the bed, and lay meditating how he should proceed; a thousand schemes offered themselves and were rejected; But he resolved, at all events, to leave Baron Fitz-Owen’s family the first opportunity that presented itself.