All eyes turned in that direction, and Lady Coldenham's with the rest. She uttered no word--no scream; but a low groan escaped her, and her eyes closed.
A multitude of questions were asked, and sudden exclamations uttered.
"Why, that is the old man we saw in Lincolnshire," cried Robert Woodhall.
"God bless my life! why, I recollect you quite well, Sir Robert," said one of the old lawyers sitting at the table.
"Who are you, sir?" demanded old Lord Woodhall, almost fiercely.
"That woman's husband!" replied Moraber, pointing to Lady Coldenham, "otherwise Sir Robert Hardwicke, of Ormebar Castle. Take her away. She has fainted, as well she may, at the sight of one who has forborne too long."
"But you were supposed dead," said the lawyer who had before spoken; "she married under a false impression. She thought you had been killed by the Moors on the coast of Africa."
"She knew that I was a slave of the Moors," replied Sir Robert Hardwicke, "and she amused me with hopes of ransom for three long years after she had married Lord Coldenham, as these loving letters will testify. Then, indeed, she thought me dead; for I discovered the fraud, and suffered the tale of my death in captivity to go forth."
"Then I am Lord Coldenham," exclaimed Robert, with a disgusting laugh of exultation; "for I was born more than four years after my mother's marriage."
"Not so," replied Sir Robert Hardwicke, seating himself in the chair from which Lady Coldenham had just been removed; "your mother's marriage was a fraud, and, as such, invalid altogether."