‘It is useless, Madge. You do not know what you are talking about. I could not live a life of obscurity. It would be moral suicide.’
‘Will you choose between me and fortune, Churchill?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That unless you give up this estate you must give up me. I will live here no longer, share your ill-gotten wealth no longer!’
‘Think of your boy.’
‘I do think of him. God forbid that my son should ever inherit Penwyn. There is the curse of blood upon every rood of land. Let it pass into other hands—guiltless hands!’
‘Give me time to think, Madge; you bewilder me by this sudden attack.’
‘Think as long as you like, dearest; only decide rightly at last.’ And with one long kiss upon his pale forehead, she left him.
Once alone, he set himself to think out his position—to face this new aspect of things.
Could this alleged heiress—impostor or not—rob him of his estate? Was it possible for George Penwyn’s marriage, and the identity of George Penwyn’s child, to be proved in a court of law; proved so indisputably as to dislodge him from his position as possessor of the estate?