to her lips, and, meekly kissing them, she died.

The poor lads had never looked upon death before: they were both
awe-struck, silent, and motionless for a while. Then Philip bent down
and closed his mother's eyes, and pressed his lips on her forehead.
But Arthur spoke first. Laying his hand on Philip's shoulder, he said,
in a tone of eager imploring, "Dear brother, we two only know of this
sad revelation. Let us bury it in our hearts, and let all be as though
this had never been. You are far better suited to your present
position than I am. You are one of Nature's noblemen. It would make
me wretched beyond expression to have to take from you wealth, title,
parents, everything. I would rather die. Let us both keep a life-long
silence about this sad affair. I beg, I implore you."

"O Arthur!" cried Philip, reproachfully, "I did not look for this from
_you_. Though a peasant born, it seems, I am not base enough to do
anything so dishonorable as that. You are the last one I would wrong.
I will strip myself of everything that belongs to you. You shall have
your birthright."

"I will not take it, Philip."

"You _must_ take it, and you will yet see it is right for you to take
it. But we have never quarrelled yet, and we must not begin by the
side of our dead mother. Ah! here comes O'Neill, _my father_. We will
not tell him all now."

The lodge-keeper, coming too late with the priest, was so absorbed by
his grief that he noticed nothing unusual in the manner of the lads,
scarcely knew when they took leave of him and returned home.

On the way, Arthur again urged Philip to conceal the strange secret
just revealed to them. Philip said no word in reply, but shook his
proud young head very firmly. As soon as they reached the Castle,
Philip strode with the step and bearing of a man to the ball-room, at
the head of which stood the Earl and Countess in a gay circle of
friends. They pleasantly welcomed back the lads, but all were struck
by the paleness of the two faces,--by the look of heroic determination
in Philip's, and by Arthur's expression of agonized entreaty, as he
clung to the arm of his friend.

With strange clearness and calmness of voice, Philip spoke: "My Lord,
and my dear Lady, I have something strange and startling to tell you,
and I desire to say it before all these guests of ours. _I am not your
son and heir._ There was a fraud perpetrated upon you in my infancy,
by the nurse, Norah O'Neil