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temples. He knew that among the secrets of the man whose
inheritance he had stolen was one which he had never
gained—the secret of that sacrifice to which Lady Devine
had once referred—and he felt that this secret was to be re-
vealed to crush him now.
Sarah, trembling also, but more with rage than terror,
swept towards Lady Devine. ‘Speak out!’ she said, ‘if you
have anything to say! Of what do you accuse my husband?’
‘Of imposture!’ cried Lady Devine, all her outraged ma-
ternity nerving her to abash her enemy. ‘This man may be
your husband, but he is not my son!’
Now that the worst was out, John Rex, choking with pas-
sion, felt all the devil within him rebelling against defeat.
‘You are mad,’ he said. ‘You have recognized me for three
years, and now, because I want to claim that which is my
own, you invent this lie. Take care how you provoke me. If I
am not your son—you have recognized me as such. I stand
upon the law and upon my rights.’
Lady Devine turned swiftly, and with both hands to her
bosom, confronted him.
‘You shall have your rights! You shall have what the law
allows you! Oh, how blind I have been all these years. Persist
in your infamous imposture. Call yourself Richard Devine
still, and I will tell the world the shameful secret which my
son died to hide. Be Richard Devine! Richard Devine was a
bastard, and the law allows him—nothing!’
There was no doubting the truth of her words. It was
impossible that even a woman whose home had been
desecrated, as hers had been, would invent a lie so self-con-