"Yes, pray do," she answers.
"Briefly, then, Raleigh Gilmore, the next heir, has come up to London, summoned doubtless by the vindictive Clevelands, and has been interviewing some eminent lawyers. Seeing that he has lived for ten years or more on his small estate in the country without ever setting foot in London, this present move on his part has a suspicious look. You may apprehend a suit against you at any time, so it behooves you to muster all the evidence you can on this weak point in your history."
Lady Vera sits silent before this new, impending calamity with folded hands, her color coming and going fitfully, her dark eyes fixed steadfastly on the floor. Perhaps she does not realize in all its intensity this new horror. The pain she has already endured has numbed her feelings, or rendered her impervious to future sufferings.
"You understand, do you not, Lady Vera," Sir Harry pursues, calling her attention reluctantly, "that your denial of ever having been buried makes a fearfully weak point in your case, should it ever be contested? All the evidence adduced goes to prove that Vera Campbell Noble really died to all appearance, and was buried. If you are compelled by law to prove your identity with that Vera, you will have to admit that burial, and prove your resurrection. Otherwise—I am telling you this in the greatest kindness, remember, dear Lady Vera—you may be branded as an adventuress and impostor, and ruthlessly bereft of the goodly heritage of Fairvale."
She lifts her heavy eyes from the blank contemplation of the carpet, and looks at him thoughtfully.
"You do not believe me an impostor, do you, Sir Harry?" she asks, sadly.
"Not for an instant," replies the baronet, warmly.
"Do you, Lady Clive?"
"No, indeed, my dearest girl," replies her friend, with an emphatic caress.
"Did Colonel Lockhart, before he went away?" she asks, with blushing hesitation.