The best thing would be to rid the place of the bookbinder—but how? She would rather remain ignorant of his origins, even as to whether, in fact, he was her husband’s son at all. She could not consult sir Wilton. Arthur and he got on quite as well as could be expected of father and son—their differences never came to much. But, on the other hand, sir Wilton had a demoniacal pleasure in frustrating anyone he didn’t like. Therefore it would be far better that he should have no hint, especially from her, of what was in the air.

Thinking over her talk with Barbara, she could not be certain that Richard knew anything, or that he had incited Barbara to take his part. In any case it was better to get rid of him. It was dangerous to have him in the house. He might be spending his nights trumping up evidence! At any moment he might appeal to sir Wilton.

One comfort was, she was all but confident, that the child was not already baptized when stolen from Mortgrange. That fact must have its weight with Providence!—whom lady Ann always regarded as a good churchman. He would never take the part of one who had not been baptized! She would dispute his identity to the last, and assert him as an imposter. Her duty to society demanded that she should not give in!

Suddenly she remembered the description her husband had given her of the ugliness of the infant. This man was decidedly handsome! Then she remembered that sir Wilton had told her of a membrane between certain of his fingers—horrible creature! She must examine the imposter!

Arthur was very moody at dinner. His mother feared some echo of the same report as caused her anxiety had reached him, and took the first opportunity of questioning him. But neither of lady Ann’s sons had learned to have such faith in their mother as to tell her their troubles. Arthur would confess nothing. She, in turn, was far too prudent to disclose what was in her mind—there was no telling what he might do in the folly of his youth.

In another generation no questions would be asked! Many estates were in illegal possession! There was a claim superior to the legal! Theirs was a moral claim!

The same afternoon Richard was mending the torn title of a copy of Fox’s Book of Martyrs. Vixen had forgotten her former fright and her evil courage had returned. Opening the door of the library so softly that Richard heard nothing, she stole up behind him and gave his elbow a great push just as, with the sharpest of penknives, he was paring the edge of a piece of old paper, to patch the title.