"My mother!" Echoing Lady Burville's , Dora stepped backward and surveyed with the weeping woman kneeling at her feet. The situation her. She could not believe that Lady Burville truly in claiming so close a relationship, and deemed that it was some trick to the danger of being arrested for the crime. She frowned as this thought came into her mind, and turned away coldly.  
"I do not believe you, Lady Burville. My parents are dead."
 
"Your father is dead," said Lady Burville, rising slowly, "but your mother lives; I am really and truly your mother. Why should I say what is not true?"
 
"Oh, you have enough excuse to do so," said Dora quietly. "You hope to close my mouth, and escape the consequences of your crime."
 
"My crime! You believe, then, that I killed Mr. Edermont?"
 
"I do. You were in the room alone with him, and left the house hurriedly. When Dr. Scott was coming from Canterbury he met you."
 
"He met me twice," said Lady Burville calmly; "once when I was coming from Chillum, and again when he assisted me to repair my bicycle."
 
"Then you do not deny that you were at the Red House?"
 
"No; I can hardly do so in the face of the discovery of the pearl brooch. It is mine; I thought I had lost it on the road, but as it was found in Mr. Edermont's study I admit that I was there on the night of the second of August. If I were guilty, I would not admit as much, even to my own daughter."
 
"I am not your daughter. Give me some proof that you are my mother."
 
"What proof do you want?" asked Lady Burville helplessly. "You cannot alter existing facts. If you choose to listen, I can tell you so much of my history as may convince you that what I say is true."
 
She seated herself on a near sofa, and put a lace handkerchief to her eyes. Dora looked at this woman, so , so helpless, so of brain and courage, and pity entered her soul. If this was indeed her mother, the relationship was nothing to be proud of. And yet, would she confess to such a thing if it were not true? Dora could not answer this question, and resolved to suspend her until she had heard the promised history. With some pity she seated herself beside the feeble little woman.
 
"I am willing to hear your story," she said ; "but first you must assure me of your ."
 
"Innocence! Oh, as to the murder. Yes, I am innocent. I never touched Julian; I did not kill him. I would not kill a fly. Who says I am guilty?"
 
"Dr. Scott saw----"
 
"I know he saw me!" interrupted Lady Burville impatiently. "I do not deny it. But did he see the dead body of Mr. Edermont, since he is so sure of my ?"
 
"He found your brooch lying by the dead body."
 
"Ah! And what was he doing at the Red House on that night? When I left Julian, he was alive and well. No doubt Dr. Scott killed him, and blames me for the crime."
 
"I do not believe that," said Dora decidedly. "Allen is innocent."
 
"You think so because you love him," said Lady Burville bitterly. "No doubt you are right, my dear; but if he is innocent, who is guilty? Not I--not---- Don't look at me like that, Dora. I swear I did not kill Julian. How dare you accuse your mother of such a horrible thing!"
 
"You forget I am not yet prepared to accept you as my mother."
 
"I do not see why you should," said Lady Burville quietly. "I have not acted the part of a mother towards you. But what could I do? Julian took you away from me when you were a year old."
 
"Had Mr. Edermont the right to do so?"
 
"Yes. He was my husband!"
 
"Your husband!" cried Dora in . "Do you mean to say that Mr. Edermont was my father?"
 
"I say nothing of the sort," retorted Lady Burville impatiently. "Julian was my second husband; you were the offspring of my first."
 
"Then my father is dead?"
 
"No, he isn't; I am sure I don't know; I thought he was, but it seems he isn't," said Lady Burville incoherently. "Oh dear, oh dear! what a it all is!"
 
"I cannot understand," said Dora in perplexity. "Perhaps if you tell me your story from the beginning I may gather what you mean."
 
"I shall tell you as much as suits me," replied Lady Burville, "but I cannot tell you all. It is too terrible!" She , and looked round. "Perhaps you may be able to help me, Dora; I am in the power of a man."
 
"Of what man?"
 
"Of Augustus Pallant. You know, he was down at Hernwood with me. Oh, my dear, he is a terrible man, and he knows all."
 
"Knows all what?"
 
"All my story--all your story--all Julian's story. He threatened to tell my husband." Here her eyes wandered to the stern-faced portrait. "I am so afraid of my husband," she said, with a burst of tears, "and Mr. Pallant is merciless. Oh, my dear, my dear, if you could only help me!"
 
"Tell me your story, and I may be able to do so," said Dora cheerfully.
 
She was beginning to believe that Lady Burville spoke truly, and that she was really her mother. It seemed doubtful as to whether she was guiltless or guilty, and Dora was prepared to hear both sides of the question before judging. But even if Lady Burville proved the truth of her assertion, Dora was not prepared to take her for a parent, and be over the discovery. Mother and daughter had been so long parted and , that no of the or filial feeling was possible. Dora pitied her mother; she was sorry for her; but she did not love her. In the meantime Lady Burville told her story, in her usual flippant manner, with many tears. The woman's nature was shallow in the extreme.
 
"I was married to your father at an early age," she said. "He was a sea captain, and immediately after the he went to sea. I lived at Christchurch, in Hants, while he was away. Mr. Edermont was there also."
 
"Is not Edermont a name?" asked Dora suddenly.
 
"How clever you are!" said her mother. "Yes; Mr. Edermont's real name was Dargill--Julian Dargill. He was an old admirer of mine, and wanted to marry me, but I was forced by my parents to become the wife of George Carew."
 
"Then I am really and truly Dora Carew?"
 
"Of course--your father's name. Well, after a few months I received news that my husband's ship was lost off the coast of Africa. All hands were drowned except the first mate. He was saved, and brought the story to England. So you see, my dear, I was a widow six m............