“There shall be no more talk of broken engagements, nor of putting you and your lover to the test. The debt which I and your father owe to Everard Lisle can only be paid in full by giving him our greatest treasure.”
Ethel stood up, surprise, doubt, joy, wonder were all expressed in the look she bent on the old man.
“Oh, grandpapa, do you really mean it?” she gasped.
“Most really and truly I mean it!”
With a sudden impulse she seated herself on his knees and flung both her arms round his neck.
“You have made me the happiest girl in England,” she murmured brokenly.
CHAPTER L.
THE VEILED STRANGER
It was only to be expected that Ethel’s thoughts should often revert to the conversation with Lady Pell, in the course of which the latter had advised her to ask no questions about her unknown mother at her forthcoming interview with her father and grandfather. It was advice which Ethel had accepted and abided by, but if she had hoped that some mention would be made of that which she so longed to know by one or other of those two who had so many wonderful revelations to make to her, then was she doomed to disappointment. Neither then nor later was the existence of any such person as her mother alluded to in her presence.
It was the only cloud on Ethel’s happiness. If her mother were dead, why had she not been frankly told that such was the case? If she were still alive, could it be that all mention of her name had been purposely omitted because she had been guilty of something which must keep her and her daughter for ever apart? But when Ethel asked herself this question, which she did more than once, her thoughts at once reverted to that unknown Mrs. Clare about whom she had heard so much, while staying at the Shrublands, who was said to be the daughter-in-law of Sir Gilbert Clare, and to be an Italian by birth, who had lived for a short time at Maylings, but who seemed to have suddenly left the neighbourhood, for what reason Ethel had never been told, only a few days prior to the arrival of Lady Pell and herself at Withington Chase.
Then came another inevitable question. “Was Mrs. Clare of Maylings my mother?”