which I heard you tell? I scarcely knew where I
stood, Major Hockin."

"You mean about Montague? Family honor must be defended at any price.
Child, I was greatly pained to go beyond the truth; but in such a case
it is imperative. I was shocked and amazed at my cousin's conduct; but
how could I let such a fellow know that? And think what I owe to his
father, Sir Rufus? No, no; there are times when Bayard himself must
stretch a point. Honor and religion alike demand it; and Mrs. Hockin
need never hear of it."

"Certainly I shall not speak of it," I answered, though a little
surprised at his arguments; "but you mean, of course, to find out all
about it. It seems to me such a suspicious thing. But I never could bear
Sir Montague."

The Major smiled grimly, and, perceiving that he wished to drop the
subject, I said no more. He had many engagements in London always, and I
must not attempt to engross his time. However, he would not for a moment
hear of leaving me any where but with Betsy, for perhaps he saw how
strange I was. And, being alone at last with her, I could keep up my
pride no longer.

Through all that had happened, there never had been such a dreadful
trial as I had borne this day without a word to any one. Danger and loss
and sad dreariness of mind, from want of young companionship; mystery
also, and obscurity of life, had always been my fortune. With all of
these I had striven, to the best of my very small ability, having from
nature no gift except the dull one of persistence. And throughout that
struggle I had felt quite sure that a noble yearning for justice and a
lofty power of devotion were my two impelling principles. But now,
when I saw myself sprung of low birth, and the father of my worship
base-born, down fell all my arduous castles, and I craved to go under
the earth and die.

For every word of Mr. Goad, and every crooked turn of little things in
twist against me--even the Major's last grim smile--all began to work
together, and make up a wretched tumult, sounding in my ears like drums.
Where was the use of going on, of proving any body's guilt or any body's
innocence, if the utmost issue of the whole would be to show my father
an impostor? Then, and only then, I knew that love of abstract justice
is to little minds impossible, that sense of honor is too prone to hang
on chance of birth, and virtue's fountain, self-respect, springs but ill
from parental taint.

When I could no longer keep such