"Oh, Miss Berengaria," said Bernard, smiling, "if you call Conniston that, what do you call me?"

"A foolish boy, who lost his head when he should have kept it."

"I lost my heart, at all events!"

Alice laughed, and they had a very pleasant meal. Miss Berengaria was really fond of Gore and of Conniston also, but she liked to--as she put it--take them down a peg or two. But whenever there was trouble, Miss Berengaria, in spite of her sharp tongue, was always to be relied upon.

Her bark was five times as bad as her bite, therefore those present made all allowance for her somewhat free speech.

"We start back at half-past four," announced the old lady, when the luncheon was ended, "as I don't like driving in the dark. It is now four, so you have just time to talk over what is to be done."

"What do you advise, Miss Berengaria?" asked Durham.

"I advise Bernard to give himself up, and face the matter out."

"Oh, aunt!" cried Alice, taking her lover's hand.

"My dear, this hole-and-corner business is no good. And the discovery of the likeness between Michael and Bernard brings a new element into play.

If Bernard lets himself be arrested, the whole business can be threshed out in daylight. Besides, as we stand now, that Beryl creature--drat him!--will make mischief."

"He has found out that Bernard is alive," said Alice.

"That's impossible!" cried Durham, waking up and sitting apparently on thorns. "He doesn't know Bernard is at this Castle."

"Alice has put the matter wrongly," said Bernard, taking out the letter of Beryl. "She received this from Julius. He says he saw me in the streets of London. That means he saw Michael Gilroy."

"Ah! And made the mistake, as everyone else seems to have done."

"I doubt that, Alice," said Miss Plantagenet, "I doubt that very much.

It seems to me that Beryl--drat him!--knows a great deal more than we do. It's my opinion," added the old lady, looking round triumphantly, "that Beryl has used Michael as an instrument."

"I think so also," said Durham, quickly, "and it comes to this, that if I accidentally met Michael, or if he called at my office representing himself as Bernard, I should accept him as such."

"What for?" asked Bernard, angrily.

"There you go with your temper," said Miss Berengaria. "Durham is quite right and shows more sense than I expected from him. The only way to get at the truth--which this Michael with his mother knows--is to give him a long enough rope to let him hang himself. I daresay if Durham won his confidence, the man might presume on his being accepted as Bernard, and might give us a clue. What do you say, Alice? Don't sit twiddling your thumbs, but answer."

Miss Malleson laughed. "I agree with you, aunt."

"Of course you do. Am I ever wrong? Well?" She looked round.

Durham answered her look. "I will go back to London," he said, "and will advertise for Mrs. Gilroy----"

"She won't be such a fool as to obey."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Plantagenet; she may."

"She won't, I tell you."

"Then Michael may come."

"What! with that murder hanging over his head? Rubbish!"

"You forget Bernard is accused. Michael can clear himself."

Miss Berengaria snorted and rubbed her nose. "Can he? then I should very much like to know how he can. Do what you like, young man, but mark my words: your net will catch no fish."

"It may catch Beryl," said Bernard, thoughtfully. "When he sees Mark advertising he will be on the look-out."

"To have Michael arrested as Bernard," said Miss Berengaria. "Well, he might. And if so, all the better for you, Gore. Oh dear me"--she rose to put on her bonnet--"what a lot of trouble all this is."

"And it rose from Bernard being true to me," said Alice, tenderly.

"As if you weren't worth the world," said Bernard, a.s.sisting her to put on her cloak.

"Eh, what's that?" said the old lady. "Hum! Bernard, your grandfather was a silly fool--no, I won't say that--but he was an upsetting peac.o.c.k.

The idea of not thinking Alice good enough for you!"

"She is too good for me."

"I quite agree with you," said the lawyer, laughing; "but you see, Miss Berengaria, it was not the personality of Miss Malleson that Sir Simon objected to, but her----"

"I know--I know," said the old lady tartly. "Bless the man, does he take me for an idiot." She sat down. "I'm a fool."

Everyone looked at one another when Miss Berengaria made this startling announcement. As a rule, she called others fools, but she was chary of applying the term to herself. She looked round. "I am a fool," she announced again. "Alice, come and sit down. I have something to say that should have been said long ago."

"What is it?" asked the girl, seating herself beside the old lady. Miss Berengaria, a rare thing for her, began to weep. "The air here is too strong for me," she said in excuse. "All the same, I must speak out even through my tears, silly woman that I am! Oh, if I hadn't been too proud to explain to that dead peac.o.c.k"--she meant the late baronet--"all this would have been avoided."

"Do you mean my grandfather would have consented to the marriage?"

"I mean nothing of the sort, Bernard, so don't interrupt," said Miss Berengaria, sharply, "but I'm a fool. Bernard, I beg your pardon."

"If you would come to the point, Miss Plantagenet, and----"

"I am coming to it, Durham," she said quickly. "Don't worry me. It is this way: Sir Simon objected to Alice because he knew nothing of her parentage."

"I know nothing myself," said Alice, sadly.

"Well then, I intend to tell you now. You are perfectly well born and you have every right to the name of Malleson, though why Sir Simon thought you hadn't I can't say. Give me your hand, my love, and I'll tell you who you are as concisely as possible."

Alice did as she was told, and Miss Plantagenet began in a hurry, as though anxious to get over a disagreeable task. Durham and Bernard listened with all their ears. Miss Berengaria noticed this.

"You needn't look so eager," she said tartly; "the story is dull. Alice, do you remember that I told you I was engaged once to a wicked fool?"

"Yes--you said----"

"There's no need to repeat what I said. I am quite sure it isn't edifying. I have far too long a tongue, but old age will be garrulous--drat it! Well then, Alice, that man who said he loved me and lied was your grandfather. He married a girl with money, for then I had only my looks, and I _was_ handsome," said Miss Berengaria, emphatically; "but George--his name was George and I've hated it ever since--didn't want beauty or brains. He wanted money, and got it, along with a weeping idiot whose heart he broke. I swore never to look on a man again, and when my father died I came to live at The Bower. But I heard that George's wife had died, leaving him one daughter----"

"That was me," said Alice, hastily.