Desmond’s hand slackened on his collar.
‘Speak!’ he cried. ‘Tell me, or I’ll strangle you! Is it the truth ye’ve told me? Is Lord Kilpatrick my father?’
‘Yes,’ cried Richard, ‘and you know it!’
Desmond released him, and fell back with a moan. Cur and coward as he knew the man to be, his words carried conviction. As by a lightning-flash, he read the meaning of a thousand details of his past life, which, thus illuminated, went to prove the truth.
‘My mother!’ he said. ‘My mother! No, no! Don’t say it—don’t say it! Don’t say it, for the love of God! I can’t bear it!’ He broke into a terrible sob.
‘Ye’re just the champion fool o’ my experience,’ said Peebles, as he passed Richard on his way to the door, to the frame of which Lord Kilpatrick was clinging, looking on the scene with haggard eyes.
‘You cad!’ said Dulcie, flinging the word at Richard like a missile.
‘Peebles! Desmond! What’s all this?’ cried his lordship.
‘The secret’s out, my lord,’ said Peebles. ‘The poor lad knows he’s your son.’
Kilpatrick looked with a ghastly face towards Desmond, who glared back at him like one turned to stone.