"Oh, please don't talk like that; it makes my task all the more difficult. I have realised for a long time now that I cannot stay here, a dependant on your bounty. I can never feel sufficiently grateful for what you have done for me in the past. I could not possibly put my feelings into words; but I have made up my mind that I must get my own living in the future. It is a very hard thing to say, but I am going to leave you."
"Did anybody ever hear anything so foolish?" Ravenspur cried. "Why, this is your home. Is it your fault that you are utterly incapable of getting your own living? When I brought you here--a child in arms--I gave your father a solemn assurance that you should be my own daughter in future. I have made provision for you in my will. Some day you will be rich, as things go. And now you talk of leaving me in this cold-blooded fashion. Don't you see that I cannot do without you? But let me try and touch that gratitude of which you spoke. Surely, after watching over you so carefully all these years, you are not going to leave me at the very moment when you can make something like an adequate return? You are practically mistress of the house now, and my welfare is entirely in your hands. Need I say any more after that?"
"Oh, you try me sorely," Vera cried; "and yet my path is quite plain. Even at the risk of incurring your displeasure, I cannot remain here. And now I come to the point. Before I go I want you to tell me who I am, and who my parents are."
"Yes; I think you have a right to know that," Ravenspur said thoughtfully; "but, if you don't mind, we will not go into that tonight. It is too late, and the story is too long. Believe me, you will be the happier for asking no questions. There is a dark tragedy behind your young life which is now forgotten, and I am perfectly sure you would bitterly regret it if you stirred the scandal up again. 'Let sleeping dogs lie,' Vera. Be content to know that you are of good family, and leave the rest alone."
The girl's face grew a shade paler. Her eyes had a suggestion of pain in them as she turned to the speaker.
"I think I understand," she murmured. "If my suspicions are correct, this is a great blow to me; but, having said so much, I think I must know the rest. And now, now you see how impossible it is that I can remain here much longer."
Ravenspur was silent for a moment. He had forgotten the little scene which he had witnessed some time ago between Vera and Walter Lance. So that was why she was going. She had given her heart to Walter, and only too late she had discovered that a marriage between them was out of the question.
The same subject was uppermost in Vera's mind. They were both looking at the same thing from a different point of view; and it seemed to Vera that if Ravenspur's words meant anything, it meant that she was not even entitled to the name she bore. Every drop of blood appeared to have left her heart. She stood there, white and breathless. Yet, amidst all her storm of thoughts, one dominant idea possessed her. The time had come to strike now. There must be no further delay. She must leave the house. She must go out into the world to get her own living. She would stay here no longer under these shameful conditions.
"You have spared my feelings," she began. "I almost wish now that I had not asked you any of these---"
Vera broke off abruptly as the door opened, and Walter Lance came into the room. He looked uneasy and anxious. He started to say something to Ravenspur, then he paused, as he saw that Vera was standing there. In spite of the girl's utter misery and dejection, she did not fail to see that she was in the way now.