"Yes, yes--I was wrong," said the old man, hastily; "I wronged him, and I wronged my poor girl too, by my suspicions; but yet what could I think? As she was his wife, why couldn't he acknowledge her as his wife? But she was his wife--I saw the certificate with my own eyes; she showed it me when she was dying." "Have you got it?" inquired Henry Hayley, in as calm a tone as he could assume. "No," replied the farmer; "I rushed out of the house like a madman, and came back here as soon as the last breath was drawn. I could not wait to put her in the earth--to see the dust shovelled upon the head of my poor, beautiful Mary. I came away at once; and when I came back, it was all over, the house empty, and the poor child, too, gone." There was a dead silence for several minutes; and then Henry said, in a low tone-- "You should not think too hardly of her husband; there might be many most important motives to lead him to conceal his marriage: at all events, you should forgive, as you would be forgiven." "I do forgive," answered the old man; "I have long forgiven; but there has been a bitter tree planted in my heart, which bears its fruit still. And now, young gentleman, let me ask your name; for you are so strangely like my own dear girl that I feel glad I have opened those long-closed doors to you. I have always had a notion that before I die I shall see my poor Mary's boy; and though I know that the name the man took was a false one, yet I caught a sight of the real one in the certificate, and I should recollect it if your name came somewhat near. I looked at it but little, it is true, in that terrible hour; but still I think I should remember." Henry paused thoughtfully for a moment or two, and then replied-- "I am called Frank Middleton; but we will talk more about this, Mr. Graves, hereafter, tor there are some strange circumstances connected with my own birth, too--at present I feel rather giddy." "I forgot--I forgot," said the old man. "We will have the tea, and talk more to-morrow. It is almost too much for my head, and must be too much for yours." He rang the bell as he spoke; and then, returning to the subject, which he seemed to find a difficulty in leaving, he said-- "Where were you brought up, sir?" "Principally upon the Continent," replied Henry; "in Italy and Spain, and for some time in Mexico." "Ay, he was a merchant," said the old man, "and would have the means of sending the boy abroad. But Middleton--that was not the name." "I have some reason to believe that my father's real name was not Middleton," replied Henry, "though that is the name I have gone by for many years, and perhaps by inquiring we could discover more. However, to-morrow morning will be time enough."