of hell."

Mr. Caryll rose. "Here in the sight of God and by all that I hold
most sacred, I swear that what I have said is true. I swear that Lord
Ostermore--your father--was my father. I was born in France, in the
year 1690, as I have papers upon me that will prove, which you may see,
Rotherby."

His lordship rose. "Produce them," said he shortly.

Mr. Caryll drew from an inner pocket of his coat the small leather case
that Sir Richard Everard had given him. From this he took a paper which
he unfolded. It was a certificate of baptism, copied from the register
of the Church of St. Antoine in Paris.

Rotherby held out his hand for it. But Mr. Caryll shook his head. "Stand
here beside me, and read it," said he.

Obeying him, Rotherby went and read that authenticated copy, wherein it
was declared that Sir Richard Everard had brought to the Church of St.
Antoine for baptism a male child, which he had declared to be the son of
John Caryll, Viscount Rotherby, and Antoinette de Maligny, and which had
received in baptism the name of Justin.

Rotherby drew away again, his head sunk on his breast. Her ladyship was
seated, her eyes upon her son, her fingers drumming absently at the arms
of her chair. Then Rotherby swung round again.

"How do I know that you are the person designated there--this Justin
Caryll?"

"You do not; but you may. Cast your mind back to that night at White's
when you picked your quarrel with me, my lord. Do you remember how
Stapleton and Collis spoke up for me, declared that they had known me
from boyhood at Oxford, and had visited me at my chateau in France? What
was the name of that chateau, my lord--do you remember?"

Rotherby looked at him, searching his memory. But he did not need to
search far. At first glance the name of Maligny had seemed familiar to
him. "It was Maligny," he replied, "and yet--"

"If more is needed to convince you, I can bring a hundred witnesses
from France, who have known me from infancy. You may take it that I can
establish my identity beyond all doubt."

"And what if you do?" demanded her ladyship suddenly. "What if you do
establish your identity as my lord's bastard? What claim shall that be
upon us?"

"That, ma'am," answered Mr. Caryll very gravely, "I wait to learn from
my brother here."

CHAPTER XXI. THE LION'S SKIN

For a spell there was utter silence in that spacious, pillared chamber.
Mr. Caryll and her ladyship had both resumed their chairs: the f