I ran down the stair with the vile paper in my hand.
“The wicked woman!” I cried. “If she be John's mother, I don't care: she's a devil and a liar!”
“Hush, hush, little one!” said my uncle, with a smile in which the sadness seemed to intensify the sweetness; “you do not know anything against her! You do not know she is a liar!”
“There are things, uncle, one knows without knowing!”
“What if I said she told no lie?”
“I should say she was a liar although she told no lie. My uncle is not what she threatens to say he is!”
“But men have repented, and grown so different you would not know them: how can you tell it has not been so with me? I may have been a bad man once, and grown better!”
“I know you are trying to prepare me for what you think will be a shock, uncle!” I answered; “but I want no preparing. Out with your worst! I defy you!”
Ah me, confident! But I had not to repent of my confidence!
My uncle gave a great sigh. He looked as if there was nothing for him now but tell all. Evidently he shrank from the task.