Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

THE GRAND CRASH. 157
Father Tiernay looked at the disturbed group, and became
uneasy. "Would it not be better to defer the settlement of any
family disagreements to another day? On such a solemn occasion -"
"The ice is broken, Father Tiernay," said Charles. "Cuthbert, tell him what you have told me."
Cuthbert, clasping his hands together, did so, in a low, quiet
voice.
"There," said Charles, turning to Father Tiernay, "what do
you think of that?"
"I am so astounded and shocked that I don't know what to
say," said Father Tiernay; " your mind must be abused, my dear
sir. The likeness between yourself and Mr. Charles is so great
that I cannot believe it. Mackworth, what have you to say to
this? "
"Look at William, who is standing beside Charles," said the
priest, quietly, "and tell me which of those two is most like
Cuthbert."
" Charles and William are very much alike, certainly," said
Tiernay; but —"
"Do you remember James Horton, Tiernay?" said Mackworth.
"Surely."
"Did you ever notice the likeness between him and Densil
Ravenshoe?"
" I have noticed it, certainly, especially one night. One night
I went to his cottage last autumn. Yes. Well?"
"James Horton was Densil Ravenshoe's half-brother. He
was the illegitimate son of Petre."
" Good God!"
"And the man whom you call Charles Ravenshoe, whom I
call Charles Horton, is his son."
Charles was looking eagerly from one to the other, bewildered.
"Ask him, Father Tiernay," he said, "what proofs he has.
Perhaps he will tell us."
"You hear what Mr. Charles says, Mackworth. I address
you because you have spoken last. You must surely have strong
proofs for such an astounding statement."
" I have his mother's handwriting," said Father Mackworth.
" My mother's, sir! " said Charles, flushing up, and advancing
a pace towards him.
-" You forget who your mother was," said Mackworth. "Your
mother was Norah, James Horton's wife. She confessed the
wicked fraud she practised to me, and has committed that confession'to paper. I hold it. You have not a point of ground to
stand on. Fifty Lord Saltires could not help you one jot. You