Mrs. Bezel—as we must still continue to call her—was astonished at this long silence, but raised her head to cast a timid glance at Claude. His brow was gloomy, his lips were firmly set, and he looked anything but overjoyed at the revelation which she had made. Guessing his thoughts, the unhappy woman made a gesture of despair, and spoke in a low voice, broken by sobs.
"You, too, condemn me?"
"No, mother," he replied, and Mrs. Bezel winced as she heard him acknowledge the relationship; "I do not condemn you. I have heard one side of the question. I must now hear the other—from you."
"What more can I tell you than what you already know," she said, drying her eyes.
"I must know the reason why you let me think you dead all these years."
"It was by my own wish, and by the advice of Mr. Hilliston."
Claude bit his lip at the mention of this name, and cast a hasty glance round the splendidly furnished room. A frightful suspicion had entered his mind; but she was his mother, and he did not dare to give it utterance. His mother guessed his thoughts, and spared him the pain of speaking. With a womanly disregard for the truth she promptly lied concerning the relationship which her son suspected to exist between his guardian and herself.
"You need not look so black, Claude, and think ill of me. I am unfortunate, but not guilty. All that you see here is mine; purchased by my own money."
"Your own money?" replied Claude, heaving a sigh of relief.
"Yes! Mr. Hilliston, who has been a good friend to me, saved sufficient out of my marriage settlement to enable me to furnish this cottage, and live comfortably. It is just as well," added she bitterly, "else I might have died on the streets."