The door opened gently, and Hugh Ritson stood in the door-way. Neither his brother nor his mother realized his presence. He remained a moment, and then withdrew, leaving the door ajar. Beneath the two whom he left behind, the world at that moment reeled. Paul stood with great, wide eyes, that had never tear to soften them, gazing vacantly into the weeping eyes before him. His lips quivered, but he did not speak. "Paul, speak to me--speak to me--only speak--only let me hear your voice! See, I am at your feet--your mother kneels to you--forgive her as God has forgiven her!" And loosing her grasp, she flung herself on the ground before him, and covered her face with her hands. Paul seemed not at first to know what was happening. Then he stooped and raised his mother to her feet. "Mother, rise up," he said in a strange, hollow tone. "Who am I that I should presume to pardon you? I am your son--you are my mother!" His vacant eyes gathered a startled expression. He glanced quickly around the room, and said in a deep whisper: "How many know of this?" "None besides ourselves." The frightened look disappeared. In its place came a look of overwhelming agony. "But I know of it; oh, my God!" he cried; and into the chair from which his mother had risen he fell like a wounded man. Mrs. Ritson dried her eyes. A strange quiet was coming upon her now. Her voice gathered strength. She laid a hand on the head of her son, who sat before her with buried face. "Paul," she said, "it is not until now that the day of reckoning has waited for me. When you were a babe, and knew nothing of your mother's grief, I sorrowed over the shame that might yet be yours; and when you grew to be a prattling child, I thought if God would look into your innocent eyes they would purchase grace for both of us." Paul lifted his head. At that moment of distress God had sent him the gracious gift of tears. His eyes were wet, and looked tenderly at his mother. "Paul," she continued, quite calmly now, "promise me one thing." "What is it?" he asked, softly. "That if your father should not live to make the will that must recognize you as his son, you will never reveal this secret." Paul rose to his feet. "That is impossible. I cannot promise it," he said. "Why?" "Honor and justice require that my brother Hugh, and not I, should be my father's heir--he, at least, must know." "What honor, and what justice?" "The honor of a true man--the justice of the law of England." Mrs. Ritson dropped her head. "So much for your honor," she said. "But what of mine?" "Mother, what do you mean?" "That if you allow your younger brother to inherit, the world by that act will be told all--your father's sin, your mother's shame." Mrs. Ritson raised her hands to her face, and turned aside. Paul stepped up to her and kissed her forehead reverently.