is poor old person is under a
delusion about her own parentage? She fancies herself the daughter of
Isaac Runciman, the father of old Mrs. Marrable, the mother of Widow
Thrale."

"She _is_ his daughter."

The doctor nearly sprang out of his chair with surprise, but an insecure
foothold made the chair jump instead.

"But it's impossible--it's _impossible_!" he cried. "How could Mrs.
Marrable have a sister alive and not know it?"

"That is what I am going to explain to you, Dr. Nash. And Sir Cropton
Fuller will have to wait, as you said."

"But the thing's impossible in _itself_. Only look at this!..."

"Please consider Sir Cropton Fuller. You won't think it so impossible
when you know it has happened." The doctor listened for the symptoms
with perceptibly less than his normal appearance of knowing it all
beforehand. Gwen proceeded, and told with creditable brevity and
clearness, the succession of events the story has given, for its own
reasons, by fits and starts.

It could not be accepted as it stood, consistently with male dignity.
The superior judicial powers of that estimable sex called for assertion.
First, suspension of opinion--no hasty judgments! "A most extraordinary
story! A _most_ extra_or_dinary story! But scarcely to be accepted....
You'll excuse my plain speech?..."

"Please don't use any other! The matter's too serious."

"Scarcely to be accepted without a close examination of the evidence."

"Unquestionably. Does any point occur to you?"

Now Dr. Nash had nothing ready. "Well," he said, dubiously, "in such a
very difficult matter it might be rash...." Then he thought of something
to say, suddenly. "Well--_yes!_ It certainly does occur to me that ...
No--perhaps not--perhaps not!..."

"What were you going to say?"

"That there is no direct proof that the forged letter was ever sent to
Australia." This sounded well, and appeared like a tribute to
correctness and caution. It meant nothing whatever.

"Only the Australian postmark," said Gwen. "I have got it here, but it's
rather alarming--the responsibility."

"If it was written, as you say, over an effaced original, it might have
been done just as easily in England." The doctor was reading the
direction, not opening the letter.

"Not by a forger at the Antipodes!" said Gwen.

"I meant afterwards--when--when Mrs. Prichard was in England?"

"She brought the letter with her when she came. It couldn't have been
forged afterwards."

The d