“Is it then true that I resemble my father?”
“When I said that I was thinking less of your father than of your father's son.”
“Then I have a brother living!” she exclaimed excitedly, an expression on her face in which anxiety and a new glad hope were strangely blended. “Have I sisters too? Oh, how I have wished to have a sister! Can you tell me?” Then suddenly her face clouded, and dropping her voice, she said, “But they will not know me—they will be ashamed to own me. I shall never see them—I shall be nothing to them!”
“No, Miss Affleck, you have no sisters. Your father, Colonel Eden, had only one son, Mr. Arthur Eden, whom you know.”
“Colonel Eden! Mr. Arthur Eden!” she repeated, with a strange bewildered look. “Is he my brother—Arthur—Arthur!” And while the words came like a cry of anguish from her lips, she turned away, and with hands clasped before her, took a few uncertain steps across the room, then sinking on to the sofa, burst into a great passion of tears and sobs.
Mr. Tytherleigh went to the window and stared at the limited view at the back; after a while he came to her side. “Miss Affleck,” he said, “I fully believed when I came to see you that I had welcome news to tell. I am sorry to see you so much distressed.”
Restraining her sobs she listened, and his words and tone of surprise served to rouse and alarm her, since such a display of emotion on her part might make him suspect her secret—that hateful secret of Arthur Eden's passion, which must be buried for ever. In the brief space of time which had passed since he had made his announcement, and that cry of pain had risen from her lips, a change had already taken place in her feelings. All the bitter sense of injury and insult, and the anger mixed with apprehension, had vanished; her mind had reverted to the condition in which it had been before the experience at Kew Gardens; only the feeling of affection had increased a hundred-fold. She remembered now only all that had seemed good in him, his sweet courteous manner, his innumerable acts and words of kindness, and the goodness was no longer a mask and a sham, but a reality. For he was her brother, and the blood of one father ran in their veins; and now that dark cloud, that evil dream, which had come between them, had passed away, and she could cast herself on her knees before him to beg him to forgive and forget the cruel false words she had spoken to him in her anger, and take her to his heart. But in the midst of all the tumult of thoughts and feelings stirring in her, there was the fear that he would now be ashamed of his base-born sister and avoid her.
“I am afraid that I have no cause to feel happy,” she returned at last. “Arthur Eden knows me so well, and if he had not felt ashamed of finding a sister in me, he would have come to me himself instead of sending a stranger. But perhaps,” she added with fresh hope, “he does not know what you have told me?”
“Yes, he knows certainly, since it was he who discovered that you were the daughter of a Margaret Affleck. I have been acting on his instructions, and told him to-day when I saw him that there was no doubt that you were Colonel Eden's child. It was better, he thought, and I agreed with him, that you should hear this from me. He is anxious to see you himself, and until you see him you must not allow such fancies to disturb you. He had no sooner made the discovery I have mentioned the day before yesterday—Wednesday—than he hastened to us to instruct us what to do in the case.”
Wednesday! But he had heard about Margaret Affleck on Sunday—why had he kept silence all that time? She could not guess, but it seemed there had been some delay, some hesitation, on his part. The thought sorely troubled her, but she kept it to herself. “Do you think he will come to see me this evening?” she asked, with some trouble in her voice.