oom, before she went downstairs, she looked at herself in the
glass. The pale, calm face was strange to her, or was it the story, now
on her lips, that was the strange thing, looking at that face. She saw
them both with Augustine's eyes; how could he believe it of that face.
She did not see the mirrored holiness, but the innocent eyes looked back
at her marvelling at what she was to tell of them.

In the drawing-room Augustine was walking up and down. The fire was
burning cheerfully and all the windows were wide open. The room looked
its lightest. Augustine's intent eyes were on her as she entered. "You
won't find the air too much?" he questioned; his voice trembled.

She murmured that she liked it. But the agitation that she saw
controlled in him affected her so that she, too, began to tremble.

She went to her chair at one side of the large round table. "Will you
sit there, Augustine," she said.

He sat down, opposite to her, where Sir Hugh had sat the night before.
Amabel put her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands.
She could not look at her child; she could not see his pain.

"Augustine," she said, "I am going to tell you a long story; it is about
myself, and about you. And you will be brave, for my sake, and try to
help me to tell it as quickly as I can."

His silence promised what she asked.

"Before the story," she said, "I will tell you the central thing, the
thing you must be brave to hear.--You are an illegitimate child,
Augustine." At that she stopped. She listened and heard nothing. Then
came long breaths.

She opened her eyes to see that his head had fallen forward and was
buried in his arms. "I can't bear it.--I can't bear it--" came in gasps.

She could say nothing. She had no word of alleviation for his agony.
Only she felt it turning like a sword in her heart.

"Say something to me"--Augustine gasped on.--"You did that for him,
too.--I am his child.--You are not my mother.--" He could not sob.

Amabel gazed at him. With the unimaginable revelation of his love came
the unimaginable turning of the sword; it was this that she must
destroy. She commanded herself to inflict, swiftly, the further blow.

"Augustine," she said.

He lifted a blind face, hearing her voice. He opened his eyes. They
looked at each other.

"I am your mother," said Amabel.

He gazed at her. He gazed and gazed; and she offered herself to the
crucifixion of his transfixing eyes.

The silence grew