ssion has relieved it. She
has sent you a message; come to my house, and I will give it to you."

The Rector and Bertram went quickly back to the cozy Rectory study. Mr.
Ingram began his story at once.

"Have you any early recollections?" he asked. "Cast your memory back.
What are the first things you can recall?"

Bertram raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

"I was born in India," he said; "I was sent home when I was little more
than a baby."

"You don't remember your Indian life, nor your--your--father?"

"Of course I remember my father, sir. I was over twenty when he died."

"Ah, yes, your reputed father. You cannot possibly recall, you have no
shadowy remembrance of another who bore the name?"

"Good God, Mr. Ingram! what do you mean?"

"Have you any memory? Answer me."

"No, sir, not the faintest. Is this a dream?"

"My poor lad, I don't wonder that you are staggered. Your mother could
not bring herself to tell you. She has borne much for your sake,
Bertram; you must be tender to her, gentle. She committed sin, she has
gone through terrible hours for you. She was wrong, of course; but her
motive--you must respect her motive, Loftus Bertram."

"I am in a dream," said Bertram. "General Bertram not my father! Whose
son am I then? What is my name? Who am I? Good God, sir, speak! Get me
out of this horrible nightmare."

"Bertram, I have a good deal to tell you. You have a very strange story
to hear. You must listen as quietly as you can. You must take in the
facts as well as you can. The story concerns you deeply--you and
another."

"Do you mean my mother?"

"No, I mean Josephine Hart."

"Josephine? This story concerns Josephine. Rector, my brain is
whirling."

"Sit down, keep still, listen."

Bertram restrained his impatience with an effort. He sank into a chair;
in a moment he rose to his feet.

"I can't keep still," he said. "This story concerns Nina. Does my mother
know Nina?"

"I will tell you the whole story, Bertram; I will tell it briefly, and
you must listen with patience. You must remember, as you hear, that the
woman who played this sorry part is your mother, that she did the wrong
out of mistaken love for you, that she has suffered bitterly for her
sin."

"Go on, sir; I am listening."

"Remember that the story is about your mother."

"I don't forget."

The Rector poured out a glass of water from a jug which stood on the
table, drank it off, and began to speak.

"Your mothe