A thunder-clap fell on Sir Charles Bassett, in the form of a letter
from Reginald's tutor, informing him that Reginald and another lad had
been caught wiring hares in a wood at some distance and were now in
custody.

Sir Charles mounted his horse and rode to the place, leaving Lady
Bassett a prey to great anxiety and bitter remorse.

Sir Charles came back in two days, with the galling news that his son
and heir was in prison for a month, all his exertions having only
prevailed to get the case summarily dealt with.

Reginald's companion, a young gypsy, aged seventeen, had got three
months, it being assumed that he was the tempter: the reverse was the
case, though.

When Sir Charles told Lady Bassett all this, with a face of agony, and
a broken voice, her heart almost burst: she threw every other
consideration to the winds.

"Charles," she cried, "I can't bear it: I can't see your heart wrung
any more, and your affections blighted. Tear that young viper out of
your breast: don't go on wasting your heart's blood on a stranger; HE
IS NOT YOUR SON."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

AT this monstrous declaration, from the very lips of the man's wife,
there was a dead silence, Sir Charles being struck dumb, and Lady
Bassett herself terrified at the sound of the words she had uttered.

After a terrible pause, Sir Charles fixed his eyes on her, with an
awful look, and said, very slowly, "Will--you--have--the--goodness--
to--say that again? but first think what you are saying."

This made Lady Bassett shake in every limb; indeed the very flesh of
her body quivered. Yet she persisted, but in a tone that of itself
showed how fast her courage was oozing. She faltered out, almost
inaudibly, "I say you must waste no more love on him--he is not your
son."

Sir Charles looked at her to see if she was in her senses: it was not
the first time he had suspected her of being deranged on this one
subject. But no: she was pale as death, she was cringing, wincing,
quivering, and her eyes roving to and fro; a picture not of frenzy, but
of guilt unhardened.

He began to tremble in his turn, and was so horror-stricken and
agitated that he could hardly speak. "Am I dreaming?" he gasped.

Lady Bassett saw the storm she had raised, and would have given the
world to recall her words.

"Whose is he, then?" asked Sir Charles, in a voice scarcely human.

"I don't know," said Lady Bassett doggedly.

"Then how dare you say that he isn't mine?"