air. A slight shudder
passed over her. Paul looked down with a puzzled expression. Then there
was a low sobbing. He leaned over his mother and smoothed her hair
tenderly.

"Come, let us go in," he said in a broken voice.

Mrs. Ritson rose from her seat and went down on her knees. Her eyes,
still wet, but no longer weeping, were raised to heaven.

"Almighty Father, give me strength!" she said beneath her breath, and
then more quietly she rose to her feet.

Paul regarded her with increasing perturbation. Something even more
serious than he yet knew of was amiss. Hardly knowing why, his heart
sunk still deeper.

"What are we doing?" he said, scarcely realizing his own words.

Mrs. Ritson threw herself on his neck.

"Did I not say there was a terrible reason why your father should make a
will?"

Paul's voice seemed to die within him.

"What is it, mother?" he asked feebly, not yet gathering the meaning of
his fears.

"God knows, I never dreamed it would be my lips that must tell you,"
said Mrs. Ritson. "Paul, my son, my darling son, you think me a good
mother and a pure woman. I am neither. I must confess all--now--and to
you. Oh, how your love will turn from me!"

Paul's face turned pale. His eyes gazed into his mother's eyes with a
fixed look. The clock ticked audibly. Not another sound broke the
silence. At last Paul spoke.

"Speak, mother," he said; "is it something about my father?"

Mrs. Ritson's face fell on to her son's breast. A strong shudder ran
over her shoulders, and she sobbed aloud.

"You are not your father's heir," she said; "you were born before we
married.... But you will try not to hate me, ... your own mother.... You
will try, will you not?"

Paul's great frame shook visibly. He tried to speak. His tongue cleaved
to his mouth.

"Do you mean that I am--a bastard?" he said in a hoarse whisper.

The word seemed to sting his mother like a poisoned arrow. She clung yet
closer about his neck.

"Pity me and love me still, though I have wronged you before God and
man. I whom the world thought so pure--I am but a whited sepulcher--a
dishonored woman dishonoring her dearest son!"

The door opened gently, and Hugh Ritson stood in the door-way. Neither
his brother nor his mother realized his presence. He remained a moment,
and then withdrew, leaving the door ajar.

Beneath the two whom he left behind, the world at that moment reeled.

Paul stood with great, wide eyes, that had never tear