Armitage heard in silence. Mechanically he began to collect his drawings and put them in a portfolio. His face was pale under its sun-browned tint,—his expression almost tragic. Lord Blythe watched him for a moment, moved by strong heart-beats of affection and compassion.
"Pierce," he then said, in a low tone—"I know everything!"
Armitage turned on him sharply.
"You—you know?—What?—How?—"
"She—Maude—told me all," said Blythe, gently—"And I think—your wrong to her—was not so blameworthy as her wrong to you! But I have something to tell you of one whose wrong is greater than hers or yours—one who is Innocent!"
He emphasised the name, and Armitage started as though struck with a whip.
"Innocent!" he muttered—"The child—yes!—but I couldn't make enough to send money for it after a while—I paid as long as I could—"
He trembled,—his fine eyes had a strained look of anguish in them.
"Not dead too?" he said—"Surely not—the people at the farm had a good name—they would not be cruel to a child—"
Blythe gripped him by the arm.