“There are things it is not fit to speak before all the world. Bid those men go, and I'll open your eyes that stay.” Then Richard Bassett foresaw another triumph, so he told the constable and his man they had better retire for a few minutes, “while,” said he, with a sneer, “these wonderful revelations are being made.” When they were gone, Mary turned to Richard Bassett, and said “Why do you want him sent to prison?--to spite Sir Charles here, to stab his heart through his son.” Sir Charles groaned aloud. The woman heard, and thought of many things. She flung herself on her knees, and seized his hand. “Don't you cry, my dear old master; mine is the only heart shall bleed. HE IS NOT YOUR SON.” “What!” cried Sir Charles, in a terrible voice. “That is no news to me,” said Richard. “He is more like the parson than Sir Charles Bassett.” “For shame! for shame!” cried Mary Meyrick. “Oh, it becomes you to give fathers to children when you don't know your own flesh and blood! He is YOUR SON, RICHARD BASSETT.” _“My_ son!” roared Bassett, in utter amazement. “Ay. I should know; FOR I AM HIS MOTHER.” This astounding statement was uttered with all the majesty of truth, and when she said “I am his mother,” the voice turned tender all in a moment. They were all paralyzed; and, absorbed in this strange revelation, did not hear a tottering footstep: a woman, pale as a corpse, and with eyes glaring large, stood among them, all in a moment, as if a ghost had risen from the earth. It was Lady Bassett. At sight of her, Sir Charles awoke from the confusion and amazement into which Mary had thrown him, and said, “Ah--! Bella, do you hear what she says, that he is not our son? What, then, have you agreed with your servant to deceive your husband?” Lady Bassett gasped, and tried to speak; but before the words would come, the sight of her corpse-like face and miserable agony moved Mary Wells, and she snatched the words out of her mouth. “What is the use of questioning _her?_ She knows no more than you do. I done it all; and done it for the best. My lady's child died; I hid that from her; for I knew it would kill her, and keep you in a mad-house. I done for the best: I put my live child by her side, and she knew no better. As time went on, and the boy so dark, she suspected; but know it she couldn't till now. My lady, I am his mother, and there stands his cruel father; cruel to me, and cruel to him. But don't you dare to harm him; I've got all your letters, promising me marriage; I'll take them to your wife and daughter, and they shall know it is your own flesh and blood you are sending to prison. Oh, I am mad to threaten him! my darling, speak him fair; he is your father; he may have a bit of nature in his heart somewhere, though I could never find it.” The young man put his hands together, like an Oriental, and said, “Forgive me,” then sank at Richard Bassett's knees.