"Who purchased the dresses and the diamonds which you wear,—dresses and diamonds worthy of a queen?"
"You did, mother—of course," I hesitated.
"Wrong, Frank, all wrong!" and her eyes shone vividly, and the mark between her brows grew blacker. "The house which shelters you, the furniture which meets your gaze, the dresses which clothe you, and the diamonds which adorn your person, are the property of—Mr. Wareham."
It seemed to me as if the floor had opened at my feet.
"O, mother! you are jesting," I faltered.
[CHAPTER XII.]
A REVELATION.
"I am a beggar, child, and you are a beggar's daughter. It is to Mr. Wareham that we are indebted for all that we enjoy. For years he has paid the expenses of your education; and now that you have grown to young womanhood he shelters you in a palace, surrounds you with splendor that a queen might envy, and not satisfied with this,—"
She paused and fixed her eyes upon my face, I know that I was frightfully pale.