“Gilbert, it is a lie!” she exclaimed, with startling vehemence. “A lie,--A LIE! You are my lawful son, born in wedlock! There is no stain upon your name, of my giving, and I know there will be none of your own.” He turned towards her, his eyes shining and his lips parted in breathless joy and astonishment. “Is it--is it true?” he whispered. “True as there is a God in Heaven.” “Then, mother, give me my name! Now I ask you, for the first time, who was my father?” She wrung her hands and moaned. The sight of her son's eager, expectant face, touched with a light which she had never before seen upon it, seemed to give her another and a different pang. “That, too!” She murmured to herself. “Gilbert,” she then said, “have I always been a faithful mother to you? Have I been true and honest in word and deed? Have I done my best to help you in all right ways,--to make you comfortable, to spare you trouble? Have I ever,--I'll not say acted, for nobody's judgment is perfect,--but tried to act otherwise than as I thought it might be for your good?” “You have done all that you could say, and more, mother.” “Then, my boy, is it too much for me to ask that you should believe my word,--that you should let it stand for the truth, without my giving proofs and testimonies? For, Gilbert, that I _must_ ask of you, hard as it may seem. If you will only be content with the knowledge--: but then, you have felt the shame all this while; it was my fault, mine, and I ought to ask your forgiveness”-- “Mother--mother!” he interrupted, “don't talk that way! Yes--I believe you, without testimony. You never said, or thought, an untruth; and your explanation will be enough not only for me, but for the whole neighborhood, if all witnesses are dead or gone away. If you knew of the shameful report, why didn't you deny it at once? Why let it spread and be believed in?” “Oh,” she moaned again, “if my tongue was not tied--if my tongue was not tied! There was my fault, and what a punishment! Never--never was woman punished as I have been. Gilbert, whatever you do, bind yourself by no vow, except in the sight of men!” “I do not understand you, mother,” said he. “No, and I dare not make myself understood. Don't ask me anything more! It's hard to shut my mouth, and bear everything in silence, but it cuts my very heart in twain to speak and not tell!” Her distress was so evident, that Gilbert, perplexed and bewildered as her words left him, felt that he dared not press her further. He could not doubt the truth of her first assertion; but, alas! it availed only for his own private consciousness,--it took no stain from him, in the eyes of the world. Yet, now that the painful theme had been opened,--not less painful, it seemed, since the suspected dishonor did not exist,--he craved and decided to ask, enlightenment on one point.