There was a step in the room, which caused Juliet to turn her head, while Morley, whose face was towards the door, made an impetuous sign to the person who had entered to retire; but old Adam Gray came in with a respectful, but a determined countenance, and Juliet, with a glowing cheek, withdrew herself from Morley's arm.
"I beg your pardon, Sir Morley," cried the old man; "but what I have to say must be said--I can keep it down no longer; I care not whether it offends or not! I have loved you from a boy, sir, and will tell you the truth, even though it make you angry. The young lady that you are talking to--I do not mean to say anything against her--though she has made you unhappy enough, I'm sure."
"Quit the room, Adam Gray!" exclaimed Morley sternly.
"Not till I've told you, sir," replied the old servant "I've heard it's her father's will makes her do all this; but she is no more what she fancies herself than I am. Your father always said, sir, that she was not old Carr's daughter, and wished Lady Malcolm--that is, Lady Clavering, as I ought to call her now--to try it with him. That was the cause of the quarrel; for your father said he was a swindler; and, you know, all Mrs. Carr's property went to Lady Malcolm, if she had not a child; and so, when their baby died, he got this young lady up from Sergeant More's wife, who had it to nurse; but the cheat was as plain as possible, for this baby was six weeks old, and the other but a day or two; but as poor Mrs. Carr was so ill that she knew nothing about it, and the baby was brought up by hand, nobody could prove it then, except the nurse and Mrs. More. I can prove it now, however, and that I will, too, let come of it what may."
The old man paused to take breath, for he had spoken with all the eager rapidity of one who, having broken through habitual respect, is fearful lest the impulse which gave him courage to do so should fail him. The effect produced upon Morley and Juliet, however, was very different from what he expected. At first both seemed bewildered; but then a look of joy and satisfaction inexpressible came upon his master's countenance, and casting his arms round her he loved, Morley exclaimed--"Mine--mine, Juliet!--you are mine, without a fear and without a regret, without one cloud to shadow the sunshine of our love!"
"Oh, is it--can it be true?" cried Juliet. "Tell me--tell me," she continued, disengaging herself from Morley's embrace, and laying her hand upon the old man's arm--"can you prove it?--can you shew, beyond a doubt, that I am not his child? I would give anything--I would give everything--but, alas!" she added, suddenly recollecting herself, "if it be as you say, Adam Grey, I shall have nothing to give--I shall be a beggar, Morley.--Will you value your Juliet less?"
"A thousand-fold more, dearest!" replied her lover. "There was an internal conviction of the truth in my heart, from the very first. I was sure that old man could not be your father--that the same blood never ran in his veins and in yours."
"And whose then is the blood that runs in mine?" said Juliet, thoughtfully. "It is strange, Morley--very strange!--and yet I own that I am most thankful to God it is as it is; for amongst many painful things that I have endured through life, one of the most painful has been, a conviction that I was not really an affectionate and tender daughter--that I could not love my father as natural impulse would prompt one to do. Often have I struggled with myself, often have I wept over my own sensations, and have thought that, though he was unkind, and cold, and bitter towards me, if I had really the feelings which a child ought to have, I should forget every sort of harsh and chilling act in filial love. But, oh! I do regret my mother--I do regret my poor mother!--she was always gentle and affectionate, and fond of me."
"Because she thought you were her child; and he knew you were not his," replied Adam Gray--"that was the cause of the difference, Miss Juliet; and though I can't understand how you and Sir Morley have settled matters, so as to seem very happy at what I feared might make you otherwise, I hope you will forgive me; and as to proving it, I have got Mrs. More's declaration myself, signed with her own hand, and her daughter has got all the papers which the old woman left at her death. I promised not to say a word till she was dead, and should not, indeed, have told it now, but that I thought you were ill using my poor master, Miss Juliet."
"I hope I have not done so," said Juliet, with a sad smile at the old man's bluntness. "One may sometimes be obliged to make those they love unhappy, without ill using them. Adam Gray, I think you should have known me better. But, however, perhaps now I may have the power of rendering him happy instead. Morley, you seem sad."