“If the great secret of my life is to be told at all on this side the grave, the time to tell it is now come. I always thought to die without revealing it, but somehow of late everything has seemed different to me, and I feel now as if I couldn’t die easy without telling you.” She paused for a minute, exhausted. There was some brandy on the chimney-piece, and Kester gave her a little. Again she took his hand and kissed it passionately. “You will, perhaps, curse me for what I am about to tell you,” she went on, “but whether you do so or not, so may Heaven help me if it is anything more than the simple truth! Kester St. George, you have no right to the name you bear—to the name the world knows you by!” Kester was so startled that for a moment or two he sat like one suddenly stricken dumb. “Go on,” he said at last. “There’s more to follow. I like boldness in lying as in everything else.” “Again I swear that I am telling you no more than the solemn truth.” “If I am not Kester St. George,” he said with a sneer, “perhaps you will kindly inform me who I really am.” “You are my son!” He flung the woman’s hand savagely from him, and sprang to his feet with an oath. “Your son!” he said. “Ha! ha! ha! Your son, indeed! Since when have your senses quite left you, Mother Mim? A dark cell in Bedlam and a strait waistcoat would be your best physic.” “I am rightly punished,” moaned the woman—“rightly punished. I ought to have told you years ago—ay—before you ever grew to be a man. But I loved you so, and had such pride in you, that I couldn’t bear the thought of telling you, and it’s only now when I’m on my deathbed that the secret forces itself from me. But it will go no farther, never you fear that. No living soul but you will ever hear it from my lips; and you have only got to keep your own lips tightly shut, and you will live and die as Kester St. George.” She sank back with the exhaustion of speaking. Mechanically, and almost without knowing what he was doing, Kester again gave her a little brandy. Then he sat down; and Mother Mim, finding his hand close by, took possession of it again. He shuddered slightly, but did not withdraw it. Although Mother Mim had advanced no proofs in support of the strange story she had just told him, there was something in her tone which carried conviction to his inmost heart. “I must know more of this,” he said, after a little while, speaking almost in a whisper.