"Why did you tell me this?"
"Because I believe that there is every chance--that you may be
legally entitled to my name. Since I have known who you are, I--I
have had you watched. I have hesitated--a long while. My
brokers have watched you for a year, now; my attorneys for much
longer. To-day you stand in need of me, if ever you have stood in
need of anybody. I take the chance that you have that claim on me;
I offer to receive you, provide for you. That is all, Berkley.
Now you know everything."
"Who else--knows?"
"Knows what?"
"Knows what you did to my mother?"
"Some people among the families immediately concerned," replied
Colonel Arran coolly.
"Who are they?"
"Your mother's relatives, the Paiges, the Berkleys--my family, the
Arrans, the Lents----"
"What Lents?" interrupted the young man looking up sharply.
"They live in Brooklyn. There's a brother and a sister, orphans;
and an uncle. Captain Josiah Lent."
"Oh. . . . Who else?"
"A Mrs. Craig who lives in Brooklyn. She was Celia Paige, your
mother's maid of honour."
"Who else?"
"A sister-in-law of Mrs. Craig, formerly my ward. She is now a
widow, a Mrs. Paige, living on London Terrace. She, however, has
no knowledge of the matter in question; nor have the Lents, nor any
one in the Craig family except Mrs. Craig."
"Who else?"
"Nobody."
"I see. . . . And, as I understand it, you are now stepping
forward to offer me--on the chance of--of----"
"I offer you a place in this house as my son. I offer to deal with
you as a father--accepting that belief and every responsibility,
and every duty, and every sacrifice that such a belief entails,"
For a long time the young fellow stood there without stirring,
pallid, his dark, expressionless eyes, fixed on space. And after a
while he spoke.
"Colonel Arran, I had rather than all the happiness on earth, that
you had left me the memory of my mother. You have chosen not to do
so. And now, do you think I am likely to exchange what she and I
really are, for anything more respectable that you believe you can
offer?
"How, under God, you could have punished her as you did--how you
could have reconciled your conscience to the invocation of a brutal
law which rehabilitated you at the expense of the woman who had
been your wife--how you could have done this in the name of duty
and of conscience, I can not comprehend.