Crispin was to bear to those that had reared the child, Joseph
bethought him of a foul scheme for Galliard's final
destruction. And so he has sent him to London instead, to a
house in Thames Street, where dwells one Colonel Pride, who
bears Sir Crispin a heavy grudge, and into whose hands he will
be thus delivered. Can aught be done, Cynthia, to arrest this
- to save Sir Crispin from Joseph's snare?"

"As well might you seek to restore the breath to a dead man,"
she answered, and her voice was so oddly calm, so cold and bare
of expression, that Gregory shuddered to hear it.

"Do not delude yourself," she added. "Sir Crispin will have
reached London long ere this, and by now Joseph will be well on
his way to see that there is no mistake made, and that the life
you ruined hopelessly years ago is plucked at last from this
unfortunate man. Merciful God! am I truly your daughter?" she
cried. "Is my name indeed Ashburn, and have I been reared upon
the estates that by crime you gained possession of? Estates
that by crime you hold - for they are his; every stone, every
stick that goes to make the place belongs to him, and now he
has gone to his death by your contriving."

A moan escaped her, and she covered her face with her hands. A
moment she stood rocking there - a fair, lissom plant swept by
a gale of ineffable emotion. Then the breath seemed to go all
out of her in one great sigh, and Gregory, who dared not look
her way, heard the swish of her gown, followed by a thud as she
collapsed and lay swooning on the ground.