"No."

The young man rose and walked to the wainscot and back again. "Dear
father, I see the origin of the shadow upon your brow. Why was I not
told before? Perhaps the son of two unhappy parents might have brought
them together again, if for no other congenial end, than that he was
their only son!"

The Judge raised his eyes to the imploring eyes of the younger man.
The shadow never was so deep upon his brow as Perry saw it now; it was
the shadow of a long inured agony intensified by a dread judicial
sympathy.

"You are not my son!" he said.

Perry's mouth opened, but not to articulate. He stretched out his
hands to touch something, and that only which he could not reach
struck and stunned him; he had fallen senseless to the floor.

When Perry returned to knowledge he was lying upon the carpet, a cloak
under his head, and his father, walking up and down, stooped over him
frequently to look into his face with a tender, yet suffering
interest. The young man did not move, and only revealed his
wakefulness at last by raising his hand to check a relieving flow of
tears.

"My dear boy," finally said Judge Whaley, himself shedding tears, "I
had supposed that you already knew something of the tragedy of my
life."