"He deserves all our thanks, dear Arrah," replied Charles Walton, "and every recompense that we can give him; but did I understand right, sir, that you have business with me?"
"Why, I had, my noble lord," answered Falgate, In a somewhat faltering tone; "but--but, as I have found this young lady, I think it is to her I should speak, for the business is her own. I only asked for your lordship because--because I had heard that you were her best friend."
"Oh, yes! indeed he is," exclaimed Arrah Neil, warmly; "and whatever is to be said had better be said to him: he can judge rightly of things that I do not understand."
"Well, then, speak to me here, sir," said Lord Walton, retiring towards the window. "You had better come, too, Arrah, for we may want you in our council."
Falgate followed to the other side of the room, and Arrah Neil rose and joined them, while Annie Walton seated herself beside her aunt, and Lord Beverley took a seat placed on the other side of Lady Margaret's chair, engaging her attention by an account of their walk. Nor was it accidentally that he did so; for he knew that at that moment, though the fine countenance of the old dame was calm, there were many thoughts and memories, many doubts and hopes, busy in her bosom--far too busy for her peace. In the mean time he turned his eyes every now and then towards the window, against which appeared the fine and dignified form of Lord Walton, the light of evening shining full upon his lordly brow and chiselled features, and the sweet profile of Arrah Neil, with the graceful outline of her figure, all in deep shade. The painter seemed speaking eagerly as they listened, and from time to time Charles Walton bent his head or asked a question; while Arrah Neil, her face inclined towards the ground, once or twice raised her handkerchief to her eyes, and seemed to wipe away a tear. At length the painter drew forth from his pocket a small packet (which he placed in Lord Walton's hands), and a slip of paper, which he held while the young nobleman eagerly examined the contents of the packet. They seemed various, some of them being letters and scraps of parchment, some small trinkets. While he gazed upon them all, one after the other, Charles Walton gave them to Arrah Neil--first, however, drawing her arm through his own, as if to support her. Then, taking the paper from Falgate's hand, he attentively read what was written on it; and, turning once more to his fair companion, he kissed her tenderly, adding a few words, the last of which sounded like "my dear cousin."
Lady Margaret Langley caught them and started up, but instantly resumed her seat; and Lord Walton, taking Arrah's hand in his, while he supported her trembling steps with his arm, led her forward to the old lady's chair. The fair girl sank upon her knees, and bent her head before Lady Margaret, while in a low and solemn voice the young nobleman said--
"My dear aunt, it is as you have dreamed. This sweet girl is your child's child."
Lady Margaret said not a word, but cast her arms round Arrah Neil, bent her brow upon her fair neck, and wept in silence; then raised her tearful eyes towards heaven, and sobbed aloud. The old stag-hound, too, as if he comprehended all and shared in all, approached, and with a low whine licked his mistress's withered hand. She speedily grew calm, however, and looking up to her nephew, without taking her arm from Arrah's neck, she asked--
"But is it all true, Charles? Is it all proved? Is she the heiress of my house?"
"Nothing but a few minute links in the chain of evidence are wanting," replied Lord Walton; "and quite enough is proved, my dear aunt, to leave no doubt whatever on our minds, as I will show you, though other papers indeed are wanting at present, which might be needful to establish her rights and legitimacy in a court of law. Whatever may be its decision, however, to us she must be ever our own dear cousin, Arabella Tyrone."