k of to prove my
identity. She was obdurate, and only said--"If you are not Percy, how do
you know my secret?" I had in the meantime to alter the intended course
of my novel--"The Baronet's Wife." The Baronet was made to become a
reformed character. But in all those days at the lonely Towers, and in
the intervals of arguing with the poor Duchess, I could not but meet
Gwyneth Birkenhead. We met, not as cousins, for Miss Birkenhead had only
too clearly appreciated the situation from the moment she first met me.
The old seneschal, too, was in the secret; I don't know what the rest of
the menials thought. They were accustomed to the Duchess. But if
Gwyneth and I did not meet as cousins, we met as light-hearted young
people, in a queer situation, and in a strange, dismal old house.

_We_ could not in the selfsame mansion dwell
Without some stir of heart, some malady;
We could not sit at meals but feel how well
It soothed each to be the other by.

Indeed _I_ could not sit at meals without being gratefully reminded of
Gwyneth's advice about "taking some" on the night of my first arrival at
the Towers.

These queer happy times ended.

One day a party of archaeologists came to visit the Towers. They were
members of a "Society for Badgering the Proprietors of Old Houses," and
they had been lunching at Upton-on-the-Wold. After luncheon they invaded
the Towers, personally conducted by Mr. Bulkin, a very learned historian.
Bulkin had nearly plucked me in Modern History, and when I heard his
voice afar off I arose and fled swiftly. Unluckily the Duchess chanced,
by an unprecedented accident, to be in the library, a room which the
family never used, and which was, therefore, exhibited to curious
strangers. Into this library Bulkin precipitated himself, followed by
his admirers, and began to lecture on the family portraits. Beginning
with the Crusaders (painted by Lorenzo Credi) he soon got down to modern
times. He took no notice of the Duchess, whom he believed to be a
housekeeper; but, posting himself between the unfortunate lady and the
door, gave a full account of the career of the late Duke. This was more
than the Duchess (who knew all about the subject of the lecture) could
stand; but Mr. Bulkin, referring her to his own Appendices, finished his
address, and offered the Duchess half-a-crown as he led his troop to
other victories. From this accident the Duchess never recovered. Her
spirits, a