"Yes," falteringly, "as your wife, August."
The words seemed to have been forced from her lips.
She regretted them as soon as uttered. Weak and faint, she leaned heavily on his arm for support.
He led her tottering to Mrs. Bordine and said:
"Mother, we ask your blessing. Rose has consented, and we are to be married at once."
"Rose consented to marry you?"
"Yes, mother."
"Don't call me mother," uttered the widow, pushing him from her suddenly,
"You are not my son, you are an imposter!"
An imposter!
How the words cut into the heart of poor Rose. She recoiled, but he grasped her hand and started to lead her away.