“No,” she said; “no one who was an impostor could look and speak like this.”
“God bless you, my darling!” he cried warmly, as the tears started to his eyes; “and none but a true, sweet woman would have spoken like this.”
“Stop!” said the old lawyer, coming between them, and holding them apart. “You have, sir, to make your pretensions good. Mr George Harrington is here in England, has claimed his own, and is this young lady’s betrothed.”
“What? Then where is he? Bring us face to face.”
Chapter Twenty Six.
A Thrilling Narrative.
“Oh, this is absurd!” cried the new-comer as soon as he had recovered somewhat from his surprise. “I am George Harrington. What does it mean—some subterfuge on your part, sir, to make me take fresh steps to prove my identity? If so, pray speak out.”
The lawyer made a deprecatory movement.