‘Circumstances have come to light this last day or twa,’ said Peebles, ‘that put a new complexion on a’ this business.’
‘What circumstances?’ asked his lordship wonderingly.
‘Strange circumstances,’ said Peebles. ‘I’ve news for ye that’ll mak’ your ears to tingle, I’m thinking.’
‘Curse you!’ cried the old man; ‘can’t you speak out, instead of jibbering and jabbering in this fashion, you old death’s-head!’
‘Ye’re a foul-mouthed person, Lord Kilpatrick,’ said Peebles dryly, ‘but let that flea stick to the wall. I’ve news for ye that it will tak’ courage to listen to.’
‘Man alive!’ cried Kilpatrick; ‘for the love of God don’t waste your time and my patience in this fashion! What is your news?’
‘Just this,’ said the old man slowly and deliberately: ‘The marriage with Moya Macartney, that ye believed to be a sham marriage—the more shame to ye for it—was no’ a sham at all, but as good a marriage as was ever made between man and maid on this earth, and as binding!’
Kilpatrick stared at him like one distraught, breathing heavily, and grasping the side-pieces of his armchair with twitching fingers.
‘’Tis sooth I’m tellin’ ye,’ returned Peebles. ‘Blake was in holy orders. He’d been deprived of his cure and he performed the ceremony under a false name, but he’d ne’er been disfrocked. Desmond is your lawfully begotten son—your heir!’
Kilpatrick’s reception of this astounding news fairly astonished the old man. After the first dumfoundering effect of the communication had passed, Kilpatrick sprang from his chair, his face flushed, his eyes glittering.