"Your father and mother, Claude."
"Yes. So much I remember of them. But what have they to do with Margaret Bezel—or Mrs. Bezel, as I suppose she is called? Why does she want to see me?"
"To tell you a story which I prefer to relate myself."
"About whom?"
"About your parents."
"But they are dead!"
"Yes," said Hilliston, "they are dead."
He walked about the room, opened a box, and took out a roll of papers, yellow with age. These were neatly tied up with red tape and inscribed "The Larcher Affair." Placing them on the table before him, Hilliston resumed his seat, and looked steadfastly at his ward. Claude, vaguely aware that some unpleasant communication was about to be made to him, sat silently waiting the words of ill omen, and his naturally fresh color faded to a dull white with apprehension.
"I have always loved you like a son, Claude," said Hilliston solemnly, "ever since you came to my house, a tiny boy of five. It has been my aim to educate you well, to advance your interests, to make you happy, and above all," added the lawyer, lowering his voice, "to keep the contents of these papers secret from you."
Claude said nothing, though Hilliston paused to enable him to speak, but sat waiting further explanation.