“Lord Langerdale,” I said quietly, “this is a matter of life or death to me. You seem to avoid my question. Answer me this: Have you any reason to suppose that—that there was no marriage?”
“None at all,” he answered quickly. “But, my dear boy,” he went on, coming over to my side and resting his hand upon my shoulder, “it is always as well to be prepared for the worst. I will tell you how it has seemed to me sometimes. Mr. Ravenor had very peculiar views with regard to marriage, something similar to those Shelley held in his youth, and we never heard of any ceremony, which seems strange. Then, too, their separation and your mother’s marriage to a farmer, her stern, lonely life afterwards, and the fact that your birth has been kept concealed from you——”
He hesitated and seemed to gather encouragement from my face. I could not, I would not, for a moment share his fear when I thought steadfastly about it. I thought of my mother dying, with a saint-like peace upon her face, in Mr. Ravenor’s arms. I thought of the calm, sorrowful dignity of her life, and the idea refused for a moment to linger in my mind. Some other great cause for estrangement there must have been between them, but not that—not that!
“I will go down and see Ravenor to-day,” Lord Langerdale declared, with sudden energy. “I will wrest the truth from him.”
I shook my head.
“This matter lies between him and me only,” I said, in a low tone. “I will go to him.”
The handle of the door was softly turned and Lady Langerdale stood upon the threshold. Her husband went over to her at once.
“Elsie,” he said, “you were right. There are many things which yet remain in darkness; but this is Alice’s boy—your sister’s son.”
She came up to me with outstretched hands and a wistful look in her sweet, womanly face.
My heart stood still for a moment, and then gave a great throb as I felt the warm clasp of her hands and the tremulous touch of her lips upon my forehead.