"You said so, my lady."

"No, I said he was my son--I meant my son by marriage and by adoption."

"I do not understand you, madam."

"Well, I fear you don't. I will try to explain. He is"--the lady's voice
faltered and broke down--"he is my husband's son, and so, his mother
being dead, he becomes mine," breathed Berenice, in a faint voice.

"Madam!" exclaimed Hannah, drawing back and reddening to the very edge
of her hair.

"He is the son of Herman Brudenell, and so--"

"My lady! how dare you say such a thing as that?" fiercely interrupted
Hannah.

"Because, oh, Heaven! it is true," moaned Berenice; "it is true, Hannah!
Would to the Lord it were not!"

"Lady Hurstmonceux--"

"Stop! listen to me first, Hannah! I do not blame your poor sister.
Heaven knows I pitied her very much, and did all I could to protect her
the night she came to Brudenell Hall."

"I know you did, madam," said Hannah, her heart softening at the
recollection of what she had heard of the countess' share in the scene