"My father," said Perry Whaley with the tender tone habitual to him, "I have consulted your wishes as well as my desire. Marion Voss will be my wife."
"It is well, my son," replied Judge Whaley, placing upon his nose his first pair of silver spectacles. "You are entitled to so much beauty and grace on every ground of a dutiful youth and agreeable person, and of talents which will make both of you a comfortable livelihood."
"Father, with so great a change of relations before me, I desire to obtain your whole confidence."
Perry's voice trembled; the Judge sat still as one of the brazen andirons where the wood burned with a colorless flame in the fireplace. The father took off the spectacles and laid them down.
"Confidence in what respect, Perry?"
The young man walked to his father and knelt at his knee and clasped his hand. Even then Perry saw the shadow gather in that kind man's brow, as if he perceived the demon in his son.
"Before I make a lady my wife, father, I want every mystery of my life related. I have always heard that my mother died. Where is she buried?"
There was a long pause.
"She is not dead," said Judge Whaley, without any inflection, "except to me."
"Not dead, father?" asked the son, with throbbing temples. "Oh, why have I been so deceived? Were you unhappy?"