“Speak, then. Speak, and tell us what we already know.”
There was still no reply.
“You have suffered so long. You have made atonement so terrible: it is time to speak—to speak and end it.”
His face visibly hardened.
“Oh! it is no use,” Leonard cried in despair. “It is like walking into a brick wall. Sir, you hear me—you understand what is said! You cannot tell us one single thing that we do not know already.”
He made a gesture of despair, and stepped back.
Then Constance herself stepped forward. She threw herself at his feet; like a Greek suppliant she clasped his knees, and she spoke slowly and softly:
“You must hear me. I have a right to be heard. Look at me. I am the great-grand-daughter of Langley Holme.”
She raised her veil.
The old man screamed aloud. He caught the arms of the chair and sat upright. He stared at her face. He trembled and shook all over, insomuch that at the shaking of his large frame the floor also trembled and shook, and the plates on the table and the fender rattled.