Guy Earlscourt's Wife — page 201: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Of. wed then nt at once vning VOry rdship nid him. d, blandly, » Vane, be- d the way two easy- n the man- ship looked been high armchairs, infernally be as fast wil. not go quite sure. say ?” mise, it is € carriage el? She's S up.” Nave quar- w who do ion from? Oo me, was e turning e name of I merely ong dispo- the most ) | , tersely, 1) name—- h amaze in Which Miss Lisle is Disposed Of. 189 “By what right,” he demanded, hoarsely, “do you dare make this insinuation 2” “By the right of knowledge, by the right of truth, Paulina Lisle is the elder daughter and heiress of the lady the world thinks your wife. Thinks, only, for ch> has never for one second really been that. Robert Lisle is her husband. Paulina Lisle is her daughter and heiress, as I said, and your daughter is ‘ He paused. Sir Vane sprang from his chair once more 1 very devil of fury in either eye. “If you dare!” he cried, “I will throttle you where you sit. “Then I will not dare,” returned Lord Montalien, with is quiet smile, that was like oil thrown upon fire. “Sit lown, Sir Vane, sit down, and’don’t you lose your temper, is well as your ward. It is only a weak man’s folly—a wise ne never permits himself to get angry. Sit down, and let is talk this matter out quietly and clearly if we can. I knew you would be interested, and even at half-past five in the morning would not fall asleep.” The baronet sank back in his chair, literally trembling vith rage and terror. He had thought his seeret so safe— Lady Charteris shut up in a madhouse, Robert Lisle in exile, and Duke Mason afraid to speak, bound by promise ‘never to reveal it. And here, in the hour when he thought himself safest, the last man alive he would have suspected of knowing it, started up, aware of the whole truth! “This has taken you by surprise, Sir Vane,” continued the iLmooth tones of his lordship, “and yet I have known it for some time. It is no clever guesswork, no supposition, as perhaps you may think. _I happen to know what I am say- ‘ng. I happen to be able to~prove it, if necessary. Carry your mind back twenty years ago or so to the lifetime of Mr. Geoffrey Lyndith, and try if you can recollect a very useful valet in his service, by name James Porter.” The baronet gave one inarticulate gasp at the name. “Ah! I see you do remember. Perhaps you thought the man dead. Well, he is dead now, and the deposition he made in his dying hours is in my possession at present. I ouly wonder a clever man, such as I take the late Mr. Lyndith to have been, should be so weak as to intrust this kind: of secret to a servant. Believe me, we should do these sort of things ourselves, Sir Vane, or leave them undone. ihe lower elasses, you will find, as a rule, are troubled with nervousness—conscience, I think they call it—and sooner or later make a clean breast of the whole affair. Porter did. By the merest accident—one of those accidents +hat rule the w= , oF as ~comicbooks.com