So surprised was Claude by this unexpected introduction of his guardian's name that he could not suppress a start. "How do you know that Mr. Hilliston showed me the papers?" Mrs. Bezel saw that she had said too much, but, unable to go back on her words, rapidly resolved to make that revelation which she had hitherto intended to keep as a last resource. "Mr. Hilliston told me that he had done so." "Do you know him?" "Yes," said Mrs. Bezel, seizing her opportunity to lead up to the revelation. "I know him as the best and kindest of men. I know him as one who has been a good friend to you--orphan as you thought yourself." "Orphan as I thought myself," muttered Claude, turning pale. "Is it not true--am I not an orphan?" "No!" "Great Heavens! What is this you tell me? My father----" "Your father is dead. He was murdered, as you know." "Then my mother?" Mrs. Bezel looked at the agonized face of the young man, and covered her own, with a quick indrawn breath. "She lives!" "My mother! She lives! Are you mad? She died in London shortly after her acquittal." "So it was supposed, but it was not true. Could you expect that unhappy woman to face the scorn and contempt of the world after having been accused of her husband's murder? She did not die, save to the world. She fled from society and sought refuge here--here where she lies a helpless invalid." "Mrs. Bezel!" "I am not Mrs. Bezel. I am your mother." "God! My mother!" CHAPTER XII. REVELATIONS. IT was only natural that a silence should ensue between these two so strangely brought together. Claude, seated pale and anguished in his chair, tried to collect his thoughts, and stared wildly at his mother. She, with her face buried in the cushions, sobbed bitterly. After the way in which her son had spoken, it was cruel that she should have been forced to make such a revelation at such a moment. He condemned, he reproached, her conduct in the past, and she again tasted the full bitterness of the cup which had been held to her lips twenty-five years before. On his part Claude did not know what to say; he hardly knew what to think. Convinced by a perusal of the papers that his mother was morally guilty of his father's death, he was overwhelmed to find that she was still alive, and capable, for all he knew, of offering a defense for her share in the tragedy. After all, he had no right to judge her until he heard what she had to say. Blood is thicker than water, and she was his mother.