them.

Sir William spoke at last.

"The main story is simple enough. Robert was extravagant, and Ian was
vicious and extravagant also. Both got into trouble. I was younger then,
and severe. Robert hid nothing, Ian all he could. One day things came
to a climax. In his wild way, Robert--with Jock Lawson--determined to
rescue a young man from the officers of justice, and to get him out of
the country. There were reasons. He was the son of a gentleman; and,
as we discovered afterwards, Robert had been too intimate with the
wife--his one sin of the kind, I believe. Ian came to know, and
prevented the rescue. Meanwhile, Robert was liable to the law for the
attempt. There was a bitter scene here, and I fear that my wife and I
said hard things to Robert."

Gaston's eyes were on Lady Belward's portrait. "What did my grandmother
say?"

There was a pause, then:

"That she would never call him son again, I believe; that the shadow of
his life would be hateful to her always. I tell you this because I
see you look at that portrait. What I said, I think, was no less. So,
Robert, after a wild burst of anger, flung away from us out of the
house. His mother, suddenly repenting, ran to follow him, but fell on
the stone steps at the door, and became a cripple for life. At first
she remained bitter against Robert, and at that time Ian painted that
portrait. It is clever, as you may see, and weird. But there came a time
when she kept it as a reproach to herself, not Robert. She is a good
woman--a very good woman. I know none better, really no one."

"What became of the arrested man?" Gaston asked quietly, with the
oblique suggestiveness of a counsel.

"He died of a broken blood-vessel on the night of the intended rescue,
and the matter was hushed up."

"What became of the wife?"

"She died also within a year."

"Were there any children?"

"One--a girl."

"Whose was the child?"

"You mean--?"

"The husband's or the lover's?" There was a pause.

"I cannot tell you."

"Where is the girl?"

"My son, do not ask that. It can do no good--really no good."

"Is it not my due?"

"Do not impose your due. Believe me, I know best. If ever there is
need to tell you, you shall be told. Trust me. Has not the girl her due
also?"

Gaston's eyes held Sir William's a moment. "You are right, sir," he
said, "quite right. I shall not try to know. But if--" He paused.

Sir William spoke:

"There is but one person in the world who kn