"Well, sir," said Phelps, "and what have you to say about Mr. Thorold?"
"Only this," was the reply: "that he is a scoundrel!"
"Indeed!" the Rector stopped Sophy's exclamations. "On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that it was he who stole the body of Richard Marlow!"
[CHAPTER XV.]
TROUBLE.
The Rector and Sophy looked at one another, and then at Lestrange, smiling and confident. They knew Alan too well to credit so monstrous an accusation for one moment. Indeed, the idea appeared so ridiculous to Sophy that she laughed outright.
Lestrange frowned.
"You laugh now," he said. "You will weep later. What I say is true. Thorold stole the body of your father--your supposed father!" he sneered, "for, say what you like, you are my child."
"I don't acknowledge the relationship," retorted the girl with spirit, "and I never will. Mr. Marlow was my father. I shall always think of him as such. As to your accusation of Mr. Thorold, it is merely another trick to cause me trouble. I suppose you will say next that he murdered Dr. Warrender?"