it?'

The blow struck home, and Mrs. Damerel flinched.

'I had your happiness in view, my dear.'

'My happiness! that's your view of things; that's why I couldn't really
like you, from the first. You think of nothing but money. Why you
objected to Fanny French at first was because you wished me to marry
some one richer. I don't thank you for that kind of happiness; I had
rather marry a woman I can love.'

'And you can love such a creature as that?'

Again she lost her self-command; the mere thought of Fanny's possible
triumph exasperated her.

'I won't hear her abused,' cried Horace, with answering passion. 'You
are the last person who ought to do it. Comparing her and you, I can't
help saying--'

An exclamation of pain checked his random words; he looked at Mrs.
Damerel, and saw her features wrung with anguish.

'You mustn't speak to me like that!' Once more she approached him. 'If
you only knew--I can't bear it--I've always been a worldly woman, but
you are breaking my heart, Horace! My dear, my dear, if only out of pity
for me--'

'Why should I pity you?' he cried impatiently.

'Because--Horace--give me your hand, dear; let me tell you something.--I
am your mother.'

She sobbed and choked, clinging to his arm, resting her forehead against
it. The young man, stricken with amazement, stared at her, speechless.

'I am your own mother, dear,' she went on, in a quivering voice. 'Your
mother and Nancy's. And neither of you can love me.'

'How can that be?' Horace asked, with genuine perplexity. 'How could you
have married some one else?'

She passed an arm about his neck, and hid her face against him.

'I left your father--and he made me free to marry again.'

'You were divorced?'

Horace did not mean to speak brutally; in his wonderment he merely
pressed for a complete explanation. The answer was a sob, and for some
moments neither of them spoke. Then the mother, her face still hidden,
went on in a thick voice:

'I married because I was poor--for no other reason--and then came the
temptation. I behaved wickedly, I deserted my little children. Don't
revenge yourself upon me now, darling! If only I could have told you
this before--I did so want to, but I was afraid. I had to conceal half
my love for you. You can't imagine how I have suffered from your anger,
and from Nancy's coldness. You don't know me; I have never been able
to let you see what I really think and feel. I am worldly; I can't live
wit