She was swaying from side to side, swaying so heavily that I instinctively pushed forward a chair.
"Sit," I prayed. "You are not strong enough for this excitement."
She glanced at me vaguely, shook her head, but made no move toward accepting the proffered chair. She submitted, however, when I continued to press it upon her; and I felt less a brute and hard-hearted monster when I saw her sitting with folded hands before me.
"I bring this up," said I, "that you may understand what I mean when I say that some one else—another woman, in fact, may feel her claim upon this child greater than yours."
"You mean the real mother. Is she known? The doctor swore—"
"I do not know the real mother. I only know that you are not; that to win some toleration from your mother-in-law, to make sure of your husband's lasting love, you won the doctor over to a deception which secured a seeming heir to the Ocumpaughs. Whose child was given you, is doubtless known to you—"
"No, no."
I stared, aghast.
"What! You do not know?"
"No, I did not wish to. Nor was she ever to know me or my name."