"Father, with so great a change of relations before me, I desire to
obtain your whole confidence."

Perry's voice trembled; the Judge sat still as one of the brazen
andirons where the wood burned with a colorless flame in the
fireplace. The father took off the spectacles and laid them down.

"Confidence in what respect, Perry?"

The young man walked to his father and knelt at his knee and clasped
his hand. Even then Perry saw the shadow gather in that kind man's
brow, as if he perceived the demon in his son.

"Before I make a lady my wife, father, I want every mystery of my
life related. I have always heard that my mother died. Where is she
buried?"

There was a long pause.

"She is not dead," said Judge Whaley, without any inflection, "except
to me."

"Not dead, father?" asked the son, with throbbing temples. "Oh, why
have I been so deceived? Were you unhappy?"

"I thought I was happy," said the Judge huskily; "that was long my
impression."

"And my mother--was she, too, happy when you were so?"