“Hush—hush!” cried Learmont; “name him not—it is enough. But tell me, why did Gray inform you of the existence of those papers instead of securing them himself?”
“He lacked the courage to seek them where they were to be found.”
“And yet I must take your word that they do prove what you say?”
“Squire Learmont, these papers distinctly prove your illegitimacy. Among them is a letter from your mother, urging your father to marry her on account of her infant—that infant was yourself, for you know she died before you were one year old.”
“Enough—enough,” said Learmont.—“I will believe it is so.”
“So you perceive, squire, admitting your brother to—”
“Cease—cease!” cried Learmont, “I want not these details.”
“I was only about to remark that you were not the heir-at-law,” said Britton.
“Heir to hell!” cried Learmont. “Now begone. You have delivered your message. I will send to you at the pot-house you mention when a fitting time comes. Now, away!”
“Not so fast,” said Britton. “I have made a resolution.”