“I suspect,” said he, “that Edmund is not the son of Andrew your husband.”
“Lord bless me!” said she, “what is it you do suspect?”
“Do not evade my question, woman! I am come here by authority to examine you upon this point.”
The woman trembled every joint. “Would to Heaven!” said she, “that Andrew was at home!”
“It is much better as it is,” said Oswald; “you are the person we are to examine.”
“Oh, father,” said she, “do you think that I—that I—that I am to blame in this matter? what have I done?”
“Do you, sir,” said he, “ask your own questions.”
Upon this, Edmund threw himself at her feet, and embraced her knees. “O my mother!” said he, “for as such my heart owns you, tell me for the love of Heaven! tell me, who was my father?”
“Gracious Heaven!” said she, “what will become of me?”
“Woman!” said Oswald, “confess the truth, or you shall be compelled to do it; by whom had you this youth?”