from asking within his
own breast, how it had been possible that his mother should ever
have been concerned with such a wretch as that. It was a question
which could not fail to make itself audible. What being on earth was
sweeter than his mother, more excellent, more noble, more fitted for
the world's high places, more absolutely entitled to that universal
respect which seemed to be given to her as her own by right? And what
being could be more loathsome, more contemptible than he, who was,
as he was now told, his mother's husband? There was in it a want of
verisimilitude which almost gave him comfort,--which almost taught
him to think that he might disbelieve the story that was told to him.
Poor fellow! he had yet to learn the difference that years may make
in men and women--for better as well as for worse. Circumstances had
given to the poor half-educated village girl the simple dignity of
high station; as circumstances had also brought to the lowest dregs
of human existence the man, whose personal bearing, and apparent
worldly standing had been held sufficient to give warrant that he was
of gentle breeding and of honest standing; nay, her good fortune in
such a marriage had once been almost begrudged her by all her maiden
neighbours.

But Herbert, as he thought of this, was almost encouraged to
disbelieve the story. To him, with his knowledge of what his mother
was, and such knowledge as he also had of that man, it did not seem
possible. "But how is all this known?" he muttered forth at last.

"I fear there is no doubt of its truth," said Mr. Prendergast. "Your
father has no doubt whatever; has had none--I must tell you this
plainly--for some months."

"For some months! And why have I not been told?"

"Do not be hard upon your father."

"Hard! no; of course I would not be hard upon him."

"The burden he has had to bear has been very terrible. He has thought
that by payments of money to this man the whole thing might be
concealed. As is always the case when such payments are made, the
insatiable love of money grew by what it fed on. He would have poured
out every shilling into that man's hands, and would have died,
himself a beggar--have died speedily too under such torments--and yet
no good would have been done. The harpy would have come upon you; and
you--after you had innocently assumed a title that was not your own
and taken a property to which you have no right, you then would have
had to own--that whic