CHAPTER XXXIX.
AT this monstrous declaration, from the very lips of the man's wife, there was a dead silence, Sir Charles being struck dumb, and Lady Bassett herself terrified at the sound of the words she had uttered.
After a terrible pause, Sir Charles fixed his eyes on her, with an awful look, and said, very slowly, “Will—you—have—the—goodness— to—say that again? but first think what you are saying.”
This made Lady Bassett shake in every limb; indeed the very flesh of her body quivered. Yet she persisted, but in a tone that of itself showed how fast her courage was oozing. She faltered out, almost inaudibly, “I say you must waste no more love on him—he is not your son.”
Sir Charles looked at her to see if she was in her senses: it was not the first time he had suspected her of being deranged on this one subject. But no: she was pale as death, she was cringing, wincing, quivering, and her eyes roving to and fro; a picture not of frenzy, but of guilt unhardened.
He began to tremble in his turn, and was so horror-stricken and agitated that he could hardly speak. “Am I dreaming?” he gasped.
Lady Bassett saw the storm she had raised, and would have given the world to recall her words.
“Whose is he, then?” asked Sir Charles, in a voice scarcely human.
“I don't know,” said Lady Bassett doggedly.