"And did he confess?"
"No," said Jim. "I firmly believe I wronged him in suspecting him of—of what happened. But I made another discovery, and one, I fear, that will cause you some astonishment and not a little pain. I learnt from him that his name was not Murbridge, but McCalmont."
"McCalmont?" she echoed, as if she did not understand. "But that was our mother's maiden name."
"Exactly," said Jim, "and he was her brother!"
Alice looked at him in horrified surprise.
"Oh, Jim," she answered, "surely such a thing cannot be possible?"
"I am afraid it is only too true," Jim replied. "His story was most circumstantial. He was our mother's youngest brother, and was, I am very much afraid, a disgrace to the family."
"But if he had been our mother's brother, why did he entertain such a deadly hatred for our father?" she asked.
"For the simple reason that father had been successful, while he had been the reverse," Jim replied. "I rather fancy the poor old governor had helped him out of one or two of his worst scrapes, and such being the perverse nature of mankind, he hated him for the very benefits he had received from him."
They walked some distance in silence.