at a
moment when she needed assistance; I was only like any other stranger
who sees a lady in difficulty. Now I have told you this I can speak more
plainly.'

'I wish to heavens you would!' returned Cyril with growing excitement.
'Do you know the impression you are giving me?--that there is some
mysterious confidence between you and my mother. Is it too much to ask
if I may know what this difficulty and trouble mean?'

'No, Blake; you shall know all in good time,' replied Michael, with
disarming gentleness. 'If I do not speak out at once, it is because I
fear to give you too great a shock.'

'Too great a shock?'

'Yes. Your mother, out of mistaken kindness, has kept her children in
ignorance all these years that they have a father living. He was not a
father of whom they could be proud, and she tried to keep the fact of
his existence from them.'

'Wait a moment!' exclaimed Cyril. The poor fellow had turned very white.
'I must take this in. What are you telling me, Burnett? That my
mother--my widowed mother--has a husband living?'

'I am telling you the truth. Are you ready to hear me say more? I will
wait any time you like; but it is a long story, and a sad one. Your
mother has left me to tell it.'

'Go on! Let me hear every word! Hide nothing--nothing!'

Cyril spoke in a dull, stifled voice, as though he felt choking. When
Michael began to speak, very slowly and quietly, he almost turned his
back to him; and as the story proceeded, Michael noticed how he clutched
the carved arms of his chair; but he did not once see his face. Michael
afterwards owned that telling that miserable story to Olive O'Brien's
son was one of the toughest jobs he had ever done in his life. But he
had no idea how well he did it: there was not an unnecessary word. With
the utmost care he strove to shield the woman, and to show her conduct
in the best light. 'It was for her children's sake she did it,' he said
again and again; but there was no answering word from Cyril; if he had
been turned to stone, his position could not have been more rigid.

'Have you understood me, Blake? My poor, dear fellow, if you knew how
sorry Dr. Ross and I are for you----'

Then, as Michael mentioned Dr. Ross's name, Cyril seemed galvanised into
sudden life.

'He knows! he knows! For God's sake give me air!' But before Michael
could cross the room, Cyril had stumbled to the window and flung it up,
and stood there, with the bitter east wind blowing on hi