“How did you know that?” he asked.
“Mother told me,” and the tears filled his eyes, “you know when she signed that miniature. She said she wrote in English because he was an English gentleman, and she wanted me to grow up like him.”
A grim smile played round the Doctor’s mouth.
“Yes, Roy, he was English, and I will tell you something. You are old enough to know now, and your mother asked me to tell you.”
The boy stood eagerly waiting, and as the Doctor looked at him, he realised something of what the father must have looked when he too was young, and he sighed.
“Your father was Lord Reckavile,” he said slowly.
“Lord Reckavile?” exclaimed the boy, “then I am …” and he stopped, for something in the Doctor’s sad old eyes frightened him. “But my mother’s name was Desmond, as mine is?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, that was Lord Reckavile’s family name. Oh, you must not think evil of your sainted mother. She married him, thinking he was plain Mr. Desmond.”
“And he was Lord Reckavile all the time?” asked the boy.
“Yes Roy,” said the old man taking the boy’s hand in his. “But he was married in England before he met your mother. There was a Lady Reckavile. Your poor mother did not know, until he was drowned.”