“Yes. He was born in the tenth year of our marriage, just when I had given up all hope of being a father. If he is still alive, Maurice, he will be just five years younger than you,—thirty years old,—and for that I love you, my dear lad; you stand to me in the place of the son I have lost.” “Did you not suspect any one of taking her away?” “Yes; one man,” answered the Rector gloomily. “He was a tall, black-bearded fellow, who had just come back from the East; but I only saw him once. I was a hard-worked London curate in those days, and had but little time to spare. My wife met him—I think his name was Captain Malcolm—at the house of a mutual friend; but perhaps I am wrong, and it was not he who destroyed my happiness. She had so many friends. I can hardly wonder at that, for she was then in the full pride of her womanly beauty. There was a Frenchman, the Count de la Tour, I also suspected, but I was sure of no one. I suppose she grew tired of our poor life; for, in spite of the way in which she went into society, we were poor—that is, comfortable for a quiet life, but too poor for a social one. I, never suspecting any evil, was only too glad that she should go out and enjoy herself, although at times I remonstrated with her, saying that such gayety was not suited for the wife of a poor clergyman. She said she would give up such frivolities shortly, and I, like a fool, believed her. Then I was called down to see my father, who was very ill. At length he died, and I remained to attend to the funeral; but when I came back to London after a three weeks’ absence, I found she had gone with the child. She left no letter behind her to palliate her guilt; all I knew was that she had gone with some gentleman who had called for her in a brougham. The servants could not describe the man, as he did not enter the house, but remained in the carriage. My false wife told the servants she was called away by me, as her father-in-law was dying; and it was only when I returned that they learned the truth.” “Did you ever see this Captain Malcolm again?” “No, nor the Count de la Tour; so that is why I suspect one of those men as being the ruin of my life. Besides, I heard afterwards that she went a great deal about with them, sometimes with one, sometimes with the other. One of them I am sure it was, but I know not which. So you see, at one blow, Maurice, I was bereft of wife, child, home, and happiness. Afterwards I was offered this living, and, wishing to leave the scene of my former happiness, my former sorrow, my former disgrace, I accepted it, and came down here, where I have lived in peace for thirty years.” “Did you get a divorce?” “Yes; for the sake of my guilty wife. I did not wish to marry again myself, but I desired to leave her free, so that she might marry the partner of her guilt. I hope he behaved honorably to her and did so; but, alas! I know not.” “And the boy?”