"You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. “On or about the day you receive this letter, Anna, the six months will be up. "But if he had not fired that shot, he might have saved Thames, and possessed himself of papers which would have established his birth, and his right to the estates of the Trenchard family. ” For a fraction of a second the two young men hesitated. God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. ‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. Unless he has killed someone.
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