The reader may be weary of hearing of nights which went over in agitation, and mornings which rose upon an excitement not yet calmed down. But it is inevitable in such a crisis as that which we are describing that the excitement should last from one day to another. The same party who had met on the previous night in the library to examine the packet of letters, which had occasioned all this distress and trouble, met again next morning at breakfast. Clare did not appear. She had sent for Edgar in the morning, rousing him out of the brief, uneasy slumber which he had fallen into in broad daylight, after his night of trial. She had received him in her dressing-room, with a white muslin wrapper thrown round her, and her hair hanging about her shoulders, as she would have received her brother. But though the accessories of the scene were carefully retained, there was a little flush of consciousness on Clare’s cheek that it was not her brother who was coming to her; and Edgar did not offer the habitual kiss, but only took her hand in his while she spoke to him. “I cannot come down,” she said. “I will not come down again while Arthur Arden is in the house. That is not what I mean; for I suppose, now you have made up your mind, it is Arthur Arden’s house, and not ours.”

“It is not mine,” said Edgar. “Something else happened last night which confirmed everything. It is quite unimportant whether I make up my mind or not. The matter is beyond question now.”

“What happened last night?” said Clare eagerly.

“I will tell you another time. We found out, I think, who I really am. Don’t ask me any more,” said Edgar, with a pang which he could not explain. He did not want to tell her. He would have accepted any excuse to put the explanation off.

Clare looked at him earnestly. She did not know what to say—whether to obey a rising impulse in her heart (for she, too, was a genuine Arden) of impatience at his tame surrender of his “rights”—or the curiosity which prompted her to inquire into the new discovery; or to do what a tender instinct bade her—support him who had been so true a brother to her by one more expression of her affection. She looked up into his face, which began to show signs of the conflict, and that decided her. “You can never be anything less to me than my brother,” she said, leaning her head softly against his arm. Edgar could not speak for a moment—the tears came thick and blinding to his eyes.

“God bless you!” he said. “I cannot thank you now, Clare. It is the only drop of sweetness in my cup; but I must not give way. Am I to say you cannot come down stairs? Am I to arrange for my dear sister, my sweet sister, for the last time?”

“Certainly for this time,” said Clare. “Settle for me as you think best. I will go where you please. I can’t stay—here.”

She would have said, “in Arthur Arden’s house,” but the words seemed to choke her; for Arthur Arden had not said a word to her—not a word—since he knew——

And thus authorised, Edgar presented himself before the others. He took no particular notice of Arthur Arden. He said calmly, “Miss Arden does not feel able to join us this morning,” and took, as a matter of course, his usual place. There was very little said. Arthur sat by sullenly, beginning to feel himself an injured man, unjustly deprived of his inheritance. He was the true heir, wrongfully kept out of his just place: yet the interest of the situation was not his, but clung to the impostor, who accepted ruin with such a cheerful and courageous quiet. He hated him, because even in this point Edgar threw him quite into the shade. And Arthur felt that he might have taken a much superior place. He might have been magnanimous, friendly, helpful, and lost nothing by it; but even though the impulse to take this nobler part had once or twice visited him, he had not accepted it; and he felt with some bitterness that Edgar had in every way filled a higher rÔle than himself.

They had finished their silent breakfast when Edgar addressed him. He did it with a marked politeness, altogether unlike his aspect up to this time. He had been compelled to give up the hope that his successor would be his friend, and found there was nothing now but politeness possible between them. “I will inform Mr. Fazakerly at once,” he said, “of what took place last night. He will be able to put everything into shape better than we shall. As soon as I have his approbation, and have settled everything, I will take my sister away.”

“She is not your sister,” said Arthur, with some energy.

“I know that so well that it is unkind of any one to remind me,” said Edgar, with sudden tears coming to his eyes; “but never mind. I repeat we will leave Arden to-day or to-morrow. It is easier to make such an arrangement than to break the natural bonds that have been between us all our lives.”

Arthur had made a calculation before he came downstairs. He had taken a false step last night when he adopted an insolent tone to, and almost attempted to pick a quarrel with the man who was saving him so much trouble; but in the circumstances he concluded that it was best he should keep it up. He said abruptly, “Miss Arden is not your sister. I object as her nearest relation. How do I know what use you may make of the influence you have obtained over her? I object to her removal from Arden—at least by you.”

Edgar gave Mr. Fazakerly a look of appeal, and then made a strong effort to command himself. “I have nothing to keep now but my temper,” he said, with a faint smile, “and I hope I may be able to retain that. I don’t know that Mr. Arden’s presence is at all needed for our future consultations; and I suppose, in the meantime, as I am making a voluntary surrender of everything, and he could not by legal form expel me for a long time, I am justified in considering this house, till I give it up, to be mine, and not his?”

“Certainly, Arden is yours,” said Mr. Fazakerly. “You are behaving in the most unprecedented way. I don’t understand what you would be at; but Mr. Arthur Arden is utterly without power or capability in the matter. All he can do is to inform his lawyer of what he has heard——

“No power in the matter!” cried Arthur. “When I heard that woman confess last night openly that this—this gentleman, who has for so long occupied the place I ought to occupy, was her grandson! What do you mean by no power? Is Mr.—— Murray—if that is his name—to remain master of my house, in face of what I heard with my own ears——”

“You are perfectly entitled to bring an action, and produce your witnesses,” said Mr. Fazakerly promptly; “perfectly entitled—and fully justified in taking such a step. But in the meantime Mr. Edgar Arden is the Squire, and in full possession. You may wait to see what his plans are (no doubt they are idiotical in the highest degree), or you can bring an action; but at the present moment you have not the smallest right to interfere——”

“Not in respect to my cousin!” Arthur said, with rising passion.

“Not in respect to anything,” said the lawyer cheerfully.

And then the three stood up and looked at each other—Mr. Fazakerly having taken upon himself the conduct of affairs. It was Arthur only who was agitated, Edgar having recovered his composure by renunciation of everything, and the lawyer having fully come to himself, out of sheer pleasure in the conflict which he foresaw.

“There have been a great many indiscreet revelations made, and loose talk of all kinds,” Mr. Fazakerly continued; “enough, I don’t doubt, to disturb the ideas of a man uninstructed in such matters. That is entirely your cousin’s fault, not mine; but I repeat you have no power here, Mr. Arthur Arden, either in respect to Miss Clare or to anything else. Mere hearsay and private conversation are nothing. I doubt very much if the case will hold water at all; but if it does, it can only be of service to you after you have raised an action and proved your assertions. Good morning, Mr. Arthur. You have gone too fast and too far.”

And in another moment Arthur was left alone, struggling with himself, with fury and disappointment not to be described. He was as much cast down as he had been elated. He gave too much importance to these words, as he had given to the others. He had thought, without any pity or ruth, that he was to take possession at once; and now he felt himself cast out. He threw himself down in the window seat and gnawed his nails to the quick, and asked himself what he was to do. A lawsuit, a search for evidence, an incalculable, possibly unrecompensed expenditure—these were very different from the rapid conclusion he had hoped.

“My dear young friend,” said Mr. Fazakerly solemnly, turning round upon Edgar as they entered the library, “you have behaved like an idiot!—I don’t care who tells you otherwise, or if it has been your own unassisted genius which has brought you to this—but you have acted like a fool. It sounds uncivil, but it is true.”

“Would you have had me, as he says, carry on the imposture,” said Edgar, with an attempt at a smile. “Would you have had me, knowing who I am——”

“Pooh! pooh!” said Mr. Fazakerly. “Pooh! pooh! You don’t in the least know who you are. And that is not your business in the least—it is his. Let him prove what he can; you are Edgar Arden, of Arden, occupying a position which, for my part, I think you ought to have been contented with. To make yourself out to be somebody else is not your business. Sit down, and let me hear what you have to say.”

Then the client and the adviser sat down together, and Edgar related all the particulars he had learned. Mr. Fazakerly sobered down out of his hopeful impatience as he listened. He shook his head and said, “Bad, very bad,” at intervals. When he heard what Mrs. Murray had said, and that it was in Arthur Arden’s presence, he gave his head a redoubled shake. “Very—bad—indeed,” and pondered sadly over it all. “If you had but spoken to me first; if you had but spoken to me first!” he cried. “I don’t mean to say I would have advised you to keep it up. An unscrupulous counsellor would have told you, and with truth, that you had every chance in your favour. There was no proof whatever that you were the boy referred to before this Mrs. Murray appeared; and nothing could be easier than to take Mrs. Murray out of the way. But I don’t advise that—imposture is not in my way any more than in yours, Mr. Edgar. But at least I should have insisted upon having a respectable man to deal with, instead of that cold-blooded egotist; and we might have come to terms. It is not your fault. You are behaving most honourably—more than that—Quixotically. You are doing more than any other man would have done—and we could have made terms. There could have been no possible objection to that.”

“Yes, I should have objected,” said Edgar; “I do not want to make any terms——”

“Then what do you mean to do?” cried Mr. Fazakerly. “It is all very fine to be high-minded in theory, but what are you to do? You have not been brought up to any profession. With your notions, you could never get on in business. What are you to do?”

Edgar shook his head. He smiled at the same time with a half-amused indifference, which drove his friend to renewed impatience.

“Mr. Edgar,” he said solemnly, “I have a great respect for you. I admire some of your qualities—I would trust you with anything; but you are behaving like a fool——”

“Very likely,” said Edgar, still with a smile. “If that were all! Do you really suppose that with two hands capable of doing a few things, not to speak of a head and some odd scraps of information—do you really suppose a man without any pride to speak of, will be unable to get himself a living? That is nonsense. I am quite ready to work at anything, and I have no pride——”

“I should not like to trust too much to that,” said Mr. Fazakerly, shaking his head. “And then there is your sister. Miss Clare loses by this as much as you do. Of course now the entail stands as if you had never taken any steps in the matter, and Old Arden is hers no longer. Are you aware that, supposing her fully provided for by that most iniquitous bequest, your father left her nothing else? She will be a beggar as well as you.”

“You don’t mean it!” cried Edgar, with a flush of warm colour rushing over his face. “Say that again! You don’t really mean it? Why, then, I shall have Clare to work for, and I don’t envy the king, much less the proprietor of Arden. Shake hands! you have made me twice the man I was. My sister is my sister still, and, after all, I am not alone in the world.”

Mr. Fazakerly looked at the young man aghast. He said to himself, “There must be madness in the family,” not recollecting that nothing in the family could much affect Edgar, who did not belong to it. He sat with a certain helpless amazement looking at him, watching how the life rose in his face. He had been very weary, very pale, before, but this news, as it were, rekindled him, and gave him all his energy back.

“I thought it did not matter much what became of me,” he said, with a certain joyous ring in his voice, which stupified the old lawyer. “But it does matter now. What is it, Wilkins? What do you want?”

“Please, sir, Lady Augusta Thornleigh and the young ladies is come to call,” said Wilkins. “I’d have shown them into the drawing-room, but Mr. Arthur Arden he’s in the drawing-room. Shall they come here?”

Edgar’s countenance paled again as suddenly as it had grown bright. His face was like a glass, on which all his emotions showed. “They must want to see my sister,” he said, with a certain longing and wistfulness in his tone.

“It was you, sir, as my lady asked for, not Miss Arden. It’s the second one of the young ladies as is with her—Miss Augusta I think they calls her, sir,” said Wilkins, not without some curiosity. “They said special as they didn’t want to see no strangers—only you.”

Edgar rose up once more, his face glowing crimson, his eyes wet and full. “Wherever they please—wherever they please,” he said half to himself, with a confused thrill of happiness and emotion. “I am at their orders.” He did not know what he expected. His heart rose as if it had wings. They had come to seek him. Was not he receiving compensation, more than compensation, for all his pain?

But before he could give any orders, before Mr. Fazakerly could gather up his papers, or even offer to go away, Lady Augusta herself appeared at the open door.