"I understand; but why did the Squire direct an envelope to me?"
"Because he wanted to help you, and wrote this letter and this cheque, which he enclosed in an envelope to be given to you by your mother. I used the envelope as I explained, and kept the letter and cheque by me. Here they are as a proof of the truth."
Reginald took up the papers the artist placed upon the table and glanced over them, then placed them in his pocket, and turning away took up his hat.
"Where are you going?" asked Beaumont, alarmed at his action.
"I am going to see Dr. Larcher and tell him all," answered his son sternly. "What other course is there for me to take?"
"To hold your tongue," said the artist eagerly. "Surely you're not such a fool as to give up possession of an estate like this for a mere feeling of honour. Pay me a stated income and I will hold my tongue. Your mother will be silent for her own sake, so no one will know the truth."
Reginald looked at him with unutterable contempt.
"After bringing me so low as you have done do you think I am going to sink lower of my own free will?" he said in a scornful tone. "No! a thousand times no. I would not keep this property another day if it were ten million a year. I see what your plan has been--to threaten me with exposure if I did not bribe you to silence. You have mistaken me. I am not so base as that. This property shall go back to its rightful owner, and you will not receive one penny either from her or from me."
"I am your father."
"You are my father--yes, God help me! If I am to believe this story you are my father--a father I despise and loathe. One question more I only ask--are you my mother's husband?"