s found ... and to be brought forthwith before the magistrate
... there to give an account of his doings.... I asked you then to give
me the full Christian and surname of the man whom the neighborhood and I
myself thought was your nephew ... and to my surprise, you seemed to
hesitate and ..."

"And I'll hesitate no longer," she interposed firmly. "Let the lad there
ask me his dead brother's name and I'll tell him.... I'll tell him ...
if he asks ..."

"Justice must be done against Adam's murderer, dear mistress," said
Richard gently, for the old woman had paused and turned to him,
evidently waiting for him to speak. "My brother's real name, his
parentage, might explain the motive which led an evildoer to commit such
an appalling crime. Therefore, dear mistress, do I ask thee to tell us
my brother's name, and mine own."

"'Tis well done, lad ... 'tis well done," she rejoined when Richard had
ceased speaking, and silence had fallen for awhile on that tiny cottage
parlor, "'tis well done," she reiterated. "The secret hath weighed
heavily upon my old shoulders these past few years, since thou and Adam
were no longer children.... But I swore to thy grandmother who died in
the Lord, that thou and Adam should never hear of thy mother's
wantonness and shame.... I swore it on her death-bed and I have kept my
oath ... but I am old now.... After this trouble, mine hour will surely
come.... I am prepared but I will not take thy secret, lad, with me into
my grave."

She shuffled across to the old oak dresser which occupied one wall of
the little room. Two pairs of glowing eyes followed her every movement;
those of Richard Lambert, who seemed to see a vision of his destiny
faintly outlined--still blurred--but slowly unfolding itself in the
tangled web of fate; and then those of Editha, who even as the old woman
spoke had felt a tidal wave of long-forgotten memories sweeping right
over her senses. The look in the Quakeress's eyes, the words she
uttered--though still obscure and enigmatical--had already told her the
whole truth. As in a flash she saw before her, her youth and all its
follies, the gay life of thoughtlessness and pleasures, the cradles of
her children, the tiny boys who to the woman of fashion were but a
hindrance and a burden.

She saw her own mother, rigid and dour, the counterpart of this same old
Puritan who had not hesitated to part two children from their mother for
over a score of years, any more than she he