well have been cause for grave self-congratulation; but the thought of
it scarcely lingered beyond the moment of the encounter. The astonishing
discovery that the stranger, Fortune, and the redoubtable Sandy Flash
were one and the same person; the mysterious words which this person had
addressed to him; the repetition of the same words by Deb. Smith,--all
these facts, suggesting, as their common solution, some secret which
concerned himself, perplexed his mind, already more than sufficiently
occupied with mystery.

It suddenly flashed across his memory, as he rode homeward, that on the
evening when he returned from the fox-chase, his mother had manifested
an unusual interest in the strange huntsman, questioning him minutely as
to the latter's appearance. Was she--or, rather, had she been, at one
time of her life--acquainted with Sandy Flash? And if so--

"No!" he cried aloud, "it is impossible! It could not--cannot be!" The
new possibility which assailed him was even more terrible than his
previous belief in the dishonor of his birth. Better, a thousand times,
he thought, be basely born than the son of an outlaw! It seemed that
every attempt he made to probe his mother's secret threatened to
overwhelm him with a knowledge far worse than the fret of his ignorance.
Why not be patient, therefore, leaving the solution to her and to time?

Nevertheless, a burning curiosity led him to relate to his mother, that
evening, the events of the day. He watched her closely as he described
his encounter with the highwayman, and repeated the latter's words. It
was quite natural that Mary Potter should shudder and turn pale during
the recital--quite natural that a quick expression of relief should
shine from her face at the close; but Gilbert could not be sure that her
interest extended to any one except himself. She suggested no