At that moment Gaston's eyes caught the strange picture on the wall.

"I understand," he answered. "But I would be starting in the middle of a
story."

"You mean that you wish to hear your father's history? Did he not tell
you?"

"Trifles--that is all."

"Did he ever speak of me?" asked Lady Belward with low anxiety.

"Yes, when he was dying."

"What did he say?"

"He said: 'Tell my mother that Truth waits long, but whips hard. Tell
her that I always loved her.'" She shrank in her chair as if from a
blow, and then was white and motionless.

"Let us hear your story," Sir William said with a sort of hauteur.
"You know your own, much of your father's lies buried with him."

"Very well, sir."

Sir William drew a chair up beside his wife. Gaston sat back, and for a
moment did not speak. He was looking into distance. Presently the blue
of his eyes went all black, and with strange unwavering concentration he
gazed straight before him. A light spread over his face, his hands felt