“What!” cried Sir Charles, in a terrible voice.
“That is no news to me,” said Richard. “He is more like the parson than Sir Charles Bassett.”
“For shame! for shame!” cried Mary Meyrick. “Oh, it becomes you to give fathers to children when you don't know your own flesh and blood! He is YOUR SON, RICHARD BASSETT.”
“My son!” roared Bassett, in utter amazement.
“Ay. I should know; FOR I AM HIS MOTHER.”
This astounding statement was uttered with all the majesty of truth, and when she said “I am his mother,” the voice turned tender all in a moment.
They were all paralyzed; and, absorbed in this strange revelation, did not hear a tottering footstep: a woman, pale as a corpse, and with eyes glaring large, stood among them, all in a moment, as if a ghost had risen from the earth.
It was Lady Bassett.
At sight of her, Sir Charles awoke from the confusion and amazement into which Mary had thrown him, and said, “Ah—! Bella, do you hear what she says, that he is not our son? What, then, have you agreed with your servant to deceive your husband?”
Lady Bassett gasped, and tried to speak; but before the words would come, the sight of her corpse-like face and miserable agony moved Mary Wells, and she snatched the words out of her mouth.