"I can't tell you that. But with the death of Mrs. Jersey the annuity naturally ceased. I asked Mr. Ireland about the lease, and then sought out Lord Derrington. I represented to him the position of Margery Watson, and he was good enough to renew the lease in her name, on my security."
"Still by the year?" asked George.
"Still by the year. So now the poor girl can live."
"You are a good woman, Miss Bull, to help her in this way."
"I am not good," cried Miss Bull, vehemently. "God knows I have enough sins to repent of. Don't call me good, Mr. Brendon. I am only a desolate old woman who has had a hard life. I should have been married and settled, but--but"---- She shook her head and the tears came into her hard eyes. "God help me, I have had sorrows, and will have them till I die."
"That shows you have a good heart," said George, alluding not to her sorrows, but to her actions toward Margery. "Well, Miss Bull--" he rose--"you have told me what I want to know. I hope to make use of it. In return for your confidence I should tell you----"
"Tell me nothing," cried the old maid, quickly. "I don't wish to hear your secrets. The less said the soonest mended. When Miss Ward becomes Mrs. Brendon," she added with a dry smile, "you can send me a piece of wedding cake."
"She will not become Mrs. Brendon," said George, shaking his head. "I will be frank with you, Miss Bull. My name is not Brendon."
She rose from her seat and looked at him steadily, perusing every line in his face. "I thought I had seen some one like you before. I see now--now--don't tell me your name is--is--but it's impossible."
"My real name is George Vane. I am Lord Derrington's grandson."