represented to be the
son of a friend, and this was readily believed. When, however, my late
husband left Ohio, and traveled some hundreds of miles eastward to this
place, he dropped this explanation and represented you as his own son.
Romantic, wasn't it?"

Philip looked searchingly at the face of his step-mother, or the woman
whom he had regarded as such, but he could read nothing to contradict
the story in her calm, impassive countenance. A great fear fell upon him
that she might be telling the truth. His features showed his contending
emotions. But he had a profound distrust as well as dislike of his
step-mother, and he could not bring himself to put confidence in what
she told him.

"What proof is there of this?" he asked, after a while.

"Your father's word. I mean, of course, Mr. Brent's word. He told me
this story before I married him, feeling that I had a right to know."

"Why didn't he tell me?" asked Philip incredulously.

"He thought it would make you unhappy."

"You didn't mind that," said Philip, his lips curling.

"No," answered Mrs. Brent, with a curious smile. "Why should I? I never
pretended to like you, and now I have less cause than ever, after your
brutal treatment of my boy."

Jonas endeavored to look injured, but could not at once change the
expression of his countenance.

"Your explanation is quite satisfactory, Mrs. Brent," returned Philip.
"I don't think I stood much higher in your estimation yesterday than
today, so that I haven't lost much. But you haven't given me any proof
yet."

"Wait a minute."

Mrs. Brent left the room, went up-stairs, and speedily returned,
bringing with her a small daguerreotype, representing a boy of three
years.

"Did you ever see this before?" she asked.

"No," answered Philip, taking it from her hand and eying it curiously.

"When Mr. and Mrs. Brent decided that you were to be left on their
hands," she proceeded, "they had this picture of you taken in the same
dress in which you came to them, with a view to establish your identity
if at any time afterward inquiry should be made for you."

The daguerreotype represented a bright, handsome child, dressed
tastefully, and more as would be expected of a city child than of one
born in the country. There was enough resemblance to Philip as he looked
now to convince him that it was really his picture.

"I have something more to show you," said Mrs. Brent.

She produced a piece of white paper in which