For a long time Aurora Lane sat facing a temptation to accept this loophole of escape which thus crudely her boy offered her—escape from the bitter truth. He would fight! He—and Hod Brooks—those two might defy all the town—might cow them all to silence even now. But—once more her inborn honesty and courage, her years-old resolution triumphed.
"I cannot tell you who your father was, Don," said she quietly, at length, ash pale, trembling.
"When were you married—when—where?"
"I was never married, Don! What I told you was true! Oh, you make me say a thing to you I ought never to have been asked to say, but it is the truth. You may believe it—you must believe it—it's—it's no good keeping on evading—for it's true, all of it." She was gasping, choking, now. "This is a ghastly thing to have to do," she cried at last. "Ah, it oughtn't ever to have been asked of me."
The boy's breath also came in a quick sob now.
"Mother, that's not true—it can't be! Why, where does that leave you—where does it leave me?"
Her voice rose as she looked at him, so young and strong, so fine, so manly.
"But I'm not sorry," she exclaimed, "I'm not—I'm not!"
"So what they told me—what I made them all take back—it was true?" He sank back in his chair.
"Yes, Don. We can't fight. We are ruined."