he?--man--man,
speak!--you know what I would say!--She is the child of your own
daughter--the grandchild of that Mary whom you dishonoured--the child
of the woman whom William Gawtrey saved from pollution! Before he died,
Gawtrey commended her to my care!--O God of Heaven!--speak!--I am not
too late!"

The manner, the words, the face of Philip left Lilburne terror-stricken
with conviction. But the man's crafty ability, debased as it was,
triumphed even over remorse for the dread guilt meditated,--over
gratitude for the dread guilt spared. He glanced at Beaufort--at
Dykeman, who now, slowly recovering, gazed at him with eyes that
seemed starting from their sockets; and lastly fixed his look on Philip
himself. There were three witnesses--presence of mind was his great
attribute.

"And if, Monsieur de Vaudemont, I knew, or, at least, had the firmest
persuasion that Fanny was my grandchild, what then? Why else should she
be here?--Pooh, sir! I am an old man."

Philip recoiled a step in wonder; his plain sense was baffled by the
calm lie. He looked down at Fanny, who, comprehending nothing of what
was spoken, for all her faculties, even her very sense of sight and
hearing, were absorbed in her impatient anxiety for him, cried out:

"No harm has come to Fanny--none: only frightened. Read!--Read!--Save
that paper!--You know what you once said about a mere scrap of paper!
Come away! Come!"

He did now cast his eyes on the paper he held. That was an awful moment
for Robert Beaufort--even for Lilburne! To snatch the fatal document
from that gripe! They would as soon have snatched it from a tiger! He
lifted his eyes--they rested on his mother's picture! Her lips smiled on
him! He turned to Beaufort in a state of emotion too exulting, too blest
for vulgar vengeance--for vulgar triumph--almost for words.

"Look yonder, Robert Beaufort--look!" and he pointed to the picture.
"Her name is spotless! I stand again beneath a roof that was my
father's,--the Heir of Beaufort! We shall meet before the justice of our
country. For you, Lord Lilburne, I will believe you: it is too horrible
to doubt even your intentions. If wrong had chanced to her, I would have
rent you where you stand, limb from limb. And thank her",--(for Lilburne
recovered at this language the daring of his youth, before calculation,
indolence, and excess had dulled the edge of his nerves; and, unawed by
the height, and manhood, and strength of his menacer, stalked ha