He passed along the halls and passages till he came to the outer oak. He let down the portcullis.
"Come into the light," he cried, "and let me see who you are."
A halting, shuffling step advanced, and presently the gleam of the hall lantern shone down upon the face of a man whose features were strangely seamed and scarred. It seemed as if the whole of his visage had been scored and carved in criss-cross lines until not one inch of uncontaminated flesh remained.
His eyes were closed; he came forward with fumbling, outstretched hands as if searching for some familiar object. The features were expressionless, but this might have been the result of those cruel scars. But the whole aspect of the man spoke of dogged, almost pathetic, determination.
"You look strange and yet familiar to me," said Ravenspur. "Who are you and whence do you come?"
"I know you," the stranger replied in a strangled whisper. "I could recognize your voice anywhere. You are my father."
"And you are Ralph, Ralph, come back again!"
There was horror, indignation, surprise in the cry. The words rang loud and clear, so loud and clear that they reached the dining-hall and brought the rest of the party hurrying out into the hall.
Vera came forward with swift, elastic stride. With a glance of shuddering pity at the scarred face she laid a hand on Ravenspur's arm.