Herminia's face turned deadly white; she knew it had come at last.

But still she never flinched. "You shall hear the truth from me,

darling," she said, with a gentle touch. "You have always heard

it."

They passed under the doorway and up the stairs in silence. As

soon as they were in the sitting-room, Dolly fronted Herminia

fiercely. "Mother," she cried, with the air of a wild creature at

bay, "were you married to my father?"

Herminia's cheek blanched, and her pale lips quivered as she nerved

herself to answer; but she answered bravely, "No, darling, I was

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not. It has always been contrary to my principles to marry."

"YOUR principles!" Dolores echoed in a tone of ineffable, scorn.

"YOUR principles! Your PRINCIPLES! All my life has been

sacrificed to you and your principles!" Then she turned on her

madly once more. "And WHO was my father?" she burst out in her

agony.

Herminia never paused. She must tell her the truth. "Your

father's name was Alan Merrick," she answered, steadying herself

with one hand on the table. "He died at Perugia before you were

born there. He was a son of Sir Anthony Merrick, the great doctor

in Harley Street."

The worst was out. Dolly stood still and gasped. Hot horror

flooded her burning cheeks. Illegitimate! illegitimate!

Dishonored from her birth! A mark for every cruel tongue to aim

at! Born in shame and disgrace! And then, to think what she might

have been, but for her mother's madness! The granddaughter of two

such great men in their way as the Dean of Dunwich and Sir Anthony

Merrick.

She drew back, all aghast. Shame and agony held her. Something of

maiden modesty burned bright in her cheek and down her very neck.

Red waves coursed through her. How on earth after this could she

face Walter Brydges?

"Mother, mother!" she broke out, sobbing, after a moment's pause,

"oh, what have you done? What have you done? A cruel, cruel

mother you have been to me. How can I ever forgive you?"

Herminia gazed at her appalled. It was a natural tragedy. There

was no way out of it. She couldn't help seizing the thing at once,

in a lightning flash of sympathy, from Dolly's point of view, too.

Quick womanly instinct made her heart bleed for her daughter's

manifest shame and horror.

"Dolly, Dolly," the agonized mother cried, flinging herself upon

her child's mercy, as it were; "Don't be hard on me; don't be hard

on me! My darling, how could I ever guess you would look at it

like this? How could I ever guess my daughter and his would see

things for herself in so different a light from the light we saw

them in?"




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