The true mother came back. "Doctor, do what you will--what you can--I will spare him. Let things remain exactly as they are." He made no answer. He gazed upon her with troubled eyes. "Tell me, doctor," she said, "what I must do." "Will you do, then, what I advise?" "If you will only save my son from his mother. It's a dreadful thing to say. Doctor, I would rather lose the boy altogether than think that he hates and despises his mother." "When you put the child into my hands, when you undertook to make no inquiry after him in the future--then you lost your child. I told you so two months ago, when this inquiry began. Nothing but mischief could come of it--mischief, and misery, and hatred, and shame, and disappointment. This you could not understand. Now you do." She sighed. "Yes, I understand." "Our duty is plain--to hold our tongues. Humphrey will remain where he is. It is a family secret, which will die with us." "And is he--Dick's brother--to go on holding the place to which he has no right?" asked Molly. "There will be no change. It is a family secret," he repeated. "A close family secret, never to be whispered even among yourselves." "He must never know," said Alice. "Yet I must speak to him once; I must hold his hand in mine once." "If you can trust yourself. If you can only keep calm. Then, I will bring him--this very afternoon. I will go to him. You shall tell him briefly that he is like your son--that is all--your son which was lost, you know. And, remember, there will not be the least show of affection from him. Let Sir Humphrey--Sir Humphrey he must be--leave you as he came--a changeling--with no suspicion of the fact." CHAPTER THE LAST. FORGIVENESS. Alice lay patiently. It was done, then. Her punishment was ended; she was to see her son for once--only for once. "My dear," she said, "my dream will come true. I shall see my son--to call him my son--for once--only for once. And then? But there will be nothing left." Dick came bursting in. "I've drawn up the case, and I've got the advertisements ready. If by this time to-morrow the doctor makes no sign, I shall act. Here's the case." He drew out a document in foolscap, tied with red tape--a most imposing document. "And here are the letters-- "'SIR,--I beg to inform you that the funeral of your father, the late John Anthony Woodroffe, who died yesterday, Tuesday, October 15th, will take place from that institution at twelve o'clock on Friday. Your half-brother, Mr. Richard Woodroffe, has ordered me to convey to you this information.' "I hope he'll like that," said Dick, rubbing his hands. "And here is the second letter--