tly. Do it openly, before the
world,--so that the world may know that each of you desires only what
is honestly his own. For myself I tell you fairly that I have no
doubt of the truth of what I have told you; but further proof is
certainly needed. Had I any doubt I would not propose to tell your
mother. As it is I think it will be wrong to keep her longer in the
dark."

"Does she suspect nothing?"

"I do not know. She has more power of self-control than your father.
She has not spoken to me ten words since I have been in the house,
and in not doing so I have thought that she was right."

"My own mother; my dear mother!"

"If you ask me my opinion, I think that she does suspect the
truth,--very vaguely, with an indefinite feeling that the calamity
which weighs so heavily on your father, has come from this source.
She, dear lady, is greatly to be pitied. But God has made her of
firmer material than your father, and I think that she will bear her
sorrow with a higher courage."

"And she is to be told also?"

"Yes, I think so. I do not see how we can avoid it. If we do not tell
her we must attempt to conceal it, and that attempt must needs be
futile when we are engaged in making open inquiry on the subject.
Your cousin, when he hears of this, will of course be anxious to know
what his real prospects are."

"Yes, yes. He will be anxious, and determined too."

"And then, when all the world will know it, how is your mother to be
kept in the dark? And that which she fears and anticipates is as bad,
probably, as the actual truth. If my advice be followed nothing will
be kept from her."

"We are in your hands, I suppose, Mr. Prendergast?"

"I can only act as my judgment directs me."

"And who is to tell her?" This he asked with a shudder, and almost in
a whisper. The very idea of undertaking such a duty seemed almost too
much for him. And yet he must undertake a duty almost as terrible; he
himself--no one but him--must endure the anguish of repeating this
story to Clara Desmond and to the countess. But now the question had
reference to his own mother. "And who is to tell her?" he asked.

For a moment or two Mr. Prendergast stood silent. He had not
hitherto, in so many words, undertaken this task--this that would be
the most dreadful of all. But if he did not undertake it, who would?
"I suppose that I must do it," at last he said, very gently.

"And when?"

"As soon as I have told your cousin. I will go down to