"This then," said the vicar folding up the letter, "proves that you Reginald are the son of Randal Garsworth and Fanny Blake, for here is the letter, and here is the ring."
He stepped up to the lawyer and solemnly delivered both to him, then returning to his seat laid his hand kindly on Blake's shoulder.
"You hear what I have read," he observed sonorously. "What do you say?"
"Say?"' cried the young man, springing to his feet with a pale, haggard-looking face, "that it's a lie--you know yourself, sir, that I am not the squire's son--Patience knows all about my birth--it is honourable--honourable. I--I am not the son of that man," and the poor young fellow fairly broke down.
On hearing Reginald was the heir to the property a great joy appeared in Una's face, but it gave place to a look of pity and sorrow as she saw how keenly he felt the ignoble circumstances of his birth.
"There is only one thing to be done in order to make sure," she said, rising. "Call Patience Allerby."
Dick Pemberton went out of the room to fetch her, and during the dead silence which now prevailed Una walked across the room to Reginald and took his hand.
"This makes no difference to me," she whispered fondly. "Do not think that your birth will stand in the way of our marriage, I love you too well for that."
"God bless you," he muttered brokenly, and clasped her hand convulsively.
The housekeeper entered the room looking pale and worn, with a hard, defiant expression on her face, as if she was determined to face the affair out to the bitter end, as indeed she was. On hearing her footstep Reginald arose unsteadily to his feet and looked at her anxiously. On seeing the anguish in his face she seemed to falter for a moment, but soon recovered, and veiled her agony under stolid composure.