“But I dared not do it. The longer I had kept my secret from you the harder it was to tell. I feared that you would ask me why I had not told you this before our marriage. I feared that you might even part with me. And the longer I had lived with you, the more I loved you, the harder was the thought of parting from you. I could not risk the loss, even though to retain your love seemed almost a theft.
“I did not tell you, nor did I show any sympathy in your care of the friendless child. I did not go near my boy, lest he should recognize and innocently betray me.
“So weeks passed into months, and months passed into years. Children came to us, and drew our hearts even more closely together, if that were possible, than they had been before; but though I loved our little girls as fondly as ever a mother did, yet I loved them no more than I loved the dear boy whom I dared not acknowledge, or even look upon.
“It was not until Roland was at school, and time and change of fashion in clothing and hair-dressing had made such alteration in my appearance that I judged it safe to do so, I first saw my son face to face, and shook hands with him. How he stared at me! his mind evidently startled and perplexed by the phantom of a remembrance he could not fix or define.
“After that I saw him often, and was able to befriend him; but I was often troubled by the look of perplexity in the boy’s eyes when they met mine. After a while, however, this shade of memory faded quite away.
“Years passed, and the old sorrow also seemed to have gone like some morning cloud of spring, leaving scarcely a trace behind.
“It was on that visit to Niagara Falls, now nearly seven years ago, when I met in the parlor of the hotel the one man I dreaded more than all men or all devils—Angus Anglesea!
“I saw my danger as soon as our eyes met. I knew that for the old repulse I had given him at Geneva he would now take his revenge. Yet I tried to look him down, but I could not. You were by my side. I was obliged to present him to you. You had heard of Angus Anglesea from my father and from my brother, and had heard nothing but praise of the man from them. You gave him a warm welcome. You pressed him to come down and visit us at Mondreer.
“Afterward, to you alone I protested against this visit with as much energy as I dared to use; for I could not explain to you why he ought not be our guest. But you thought me somewhat capricious, and declared that you could not withdraw an invitation once given.
“Then I appealed to him, to any little remnant of pride, honor or delicacy that might remain somewhere in his depraved nature, not to accept your invitation—not to enter a house which his presence would desecrate.