h you, Rotherby?"

Rotherby turned grave eyes upon her. He was, it seemed, not quite rotten
through and through; there was still in him--in the depths of him--a
core that was in a measure sound; and that core was reached. Most of all
had the story weighed with him because it afforded the only explanation
of why Mr. Caryll had spared his life that morning of the duel. It was a
matter that had puzzled him, as it had puzzled all who had witnessed the
affront that led to the encounter.

Between that and the rest--to say nothing of the certificate he had
seen, which he could not suppose a forgery--he was convinced that Mr.
Caryll was the brother that he claimed to be. He gathered from his
mother's sudden anger that she, too, was convinced, in spite of herself,
by the answers Mr. Caryll had returned to all her arguments against the
identity he claimed.

He hated Mr. Caryll no whit less for what he had learnt; if anything, he
hated him more. And yet a sense of decency forbade him from persecuting
him now, as he had intended, and delivering to the hangman. From
ordinary murder, once in the heat of passion--as we have seen--he had
not shrunk. But fratricide appeared--such is the effect of education--a
far, far graver thing, even though it should be indirect fratricide of
the sort that he had contemplated before learning that this man was his
brother.

There seemed to be one of two only courses left him: to provide Mr.
Caryll with the means of escape, or else to withhold such evidence as
he intended to supply against him, and to persuade--to compel, if
necessary--his mother to do the same. When all was said, his interests
need not suffer very greatly. His position would not be quite so strong,
perhaps, if he but betrayed a plot without delivering up any of the
plotters; still, he thought, it should be strong enough. His father
dead, out of consideration of the signal loyalty his act must manifest,
he thought the government would prove grateful and forbear from
prosecuting a claim for restitution against the Ostermore estates.

He had, then, all but resolved upon the cleaner course, when, suddenly,
something that in the stress of the moment he had gone near to
overlooking, was urged upon his attention.

Hortensia had risen and had started forward at her ladyship's last
words. She stood before his lordship now with pleading eyes, and hands
held out. "My lord," she cried, "you cannot do this thing! You cannot do
it!"

But i