"I will then open it," said the Earl.
He did so, and produced a small vellum on which the truth was engraved in the following words:
"This is to certify that he who was commonly known under the name of Edward L'Estrange was first born son of Richard, 17th Earl of Wentworth, Arthur Plantagenet Vere de Vere, Viscount de Vere, who was reported to have been drowned, but was carried off by me, William Hermiston, alias Mad Helder, alias Bill Stacy, and brought up as a pirate till rescued by the captain of the Arethusa, and afterwards adopted by him and named Edward L'Estrange. That this is true can be sworn by me, by Farmer Forbes, Jeanet Forbes, his wife, and many others if required. his wife, and many others if required.
"Signed, Bill Stacy."
The Earl then handed it to the unfortunate man, who by the dim light deciphered the writing.
"You will know now why I sought you,—why I called you my brother, and why I asked your forgiveness?"
"Oh! this is awful news," exclaimed Viscount de Vere, as we shall now call him, without giving him the title he was rightful possessor of, as it would only make confusion. "And I have been a fratricide, and all my life waged war against my family!"
He covered his face with his hands, and his thoughts were burning, intense, horrible!
"That miscreant Bill! If I ever saw him again—and you think it is reliable. Ha! how often have I heard about Arthur de Vere, and his strange loss: little I thought it was I. And the Towers my own house, and you all brothers and sisters, and I have made some wretched, and slain my brother, and disgraced my race and name! Would God I had filled that little empty coffin I have seen in the vaults at Dun Edin Towers! Oh! if I had been drowned. Why did I live to become the monster of guilt I am?"
"It is useless to sigh over what is done; you must try and reform and make the future redeem the past. Yours has been a wayward fate,—born to rank and honour which you never succeeded to, born with a mind meant for better things, a rich soil on which not flowers, but weeds, have luxuriated! The victim of bad men, you have sunk to infamy; but 'though your sins be as scarlet' recollect they may be made 'white as snow!' the greatest sinner may yet repent!"
"Too late—too late." They were the only words the hapless man could utter, so overwhelmed was he at first by the intelligence.