“‘You, as you grew up, believed the woman who died at Grasmere was your mother, and that I was only your nurse; but that was false; I was your mother, else I had never followed your fortunes as I have, and clung to you through all as only a mother can cling to the son whose wickedness she knows, and whom she cannot forsake. You thought me in your power, because you fancied I had been indiscreet in my youth, and that your threats to expose me kept me quiet to do your bidding. There you were mistaken. It was the mother loving you through everything which made me the same as a prisoner at Chateau d’Or, where I was really happier than when following you about. Because it suited you I consented to be Madame Verwest, a Frenchwoman, and for you I have lived a life of deceit, which, thank Heaven, is over now. I meant to release Anna myself sometime, on the plea of _your_ insanity, if by no other, for there is madness in your father’s family, and you are mad at times. But others planned the escape, and I gladly followed to America, my native land, and to Millfield, my old home, for I am Milly Gardner, step-sister to Anna’s father, and the one you told me went to the bad, and was the only blot on the family.’ “Up to this time there had been a listener to Madame Verwest’s story—Mrs. Strong, who, terrified at the appearance of Haverleigh, had fled to the adjoining room, where she sank into a chair faint and helpless, and thus heard all that was said by Madame Verwest. At the mention of Milly Gardner, however, she sprang to her feet and ran to the woman’s side, exclaiming: “Oh, Milly, Milly! I have heard so much of you from my husband, and from him learned to love you even while believing the story I know now to be false. It is all so strange that you should be here when we thought you dead years ago. And _you_ are _his_ mother,” she continued, pointing to Haverleigh. ‘Send him away, if you have any power over him; he must not see my child.’ “The sound of Mrs. Strong’s voice speaking of Anna roused Haverleigh from his stupor, or rather state of bewilderment, and with a savage oath he started forward, exclaiming: “‘I _shall_ see your child, and take her, too, for she is mine. Stand aside, woman—hag—beldame—who dares to call herself my mother,’ he continued, as Madame Verwest laid both her hands upon his arm. ‘It is a lie you have told me. My mother was she who lived and died at Grasmere, and you—you—are——’ “He did not finish the sentence, for his excitement and passion had been increasing every moment, while his face grew more and more swollen and purple, until the flecks of foam gathered more thickly about his lips, which gave forth a bubbling sound as he fell across the chair in a fit.