"Not in so many words, mother," he said; "but there are ways, and ways
of saying a thing; and the cruellest way is that which everybody
understands, and I dare not. But I have long known what it meant. It is
ten years, mother, since I have mentioned the word '_father_' in your
hearing."

Mary Potter leaned forward, hid her face in her hands, and rocked to and
fro, as if tortured with insupportable pain. She stifled her sobs, but
the tears gushed forth between her fingers.

"O my boy,--my boy!" she moaned. "Ten years?--and you believed it, all
that time!"

He was silent. She leaned forward and grasped his arm.

"Did you,--_do_ you believe it? Speak, Gilbert!"

When he did speak, his voice was singularly low and gentle. "Never mind,
mother!" was all he could say. His head was still turned away from her,
but she knew there were tears on his cheeks.

"Gilbert, it is a lie!" she exclaimed, with startling vehemence. "A
lie,--A LIE! You are my lawful son, born in wedlock! There is no stain
upon your name, of my giving, and I know there will be none of your
own."

He turned towards her, his eyes shining and his lips parted in
breathless joy and astonishment.