"Not that they are going to separate us again!" she cried. "I thought your father must have taken me into favor once more, or he would not have brought me all this way with him. He is not going to be tiresome again?"
"No, no!" he answered, pressing her hand, and keeping it in his own as they sauntered on; "we shall have no more trouble on that score. We need not fear any more opposition from my father. That is the one good thing in this trouble, for if I am not my father's heir, he will not expect me to marry an heiress."
"What do you mean?" she asked in a tone of excitement.
"I mean that my father has another son older than I am," continued Philip. "You know all about poor Sophy Goldsmith as well as I do. Phyllis, it was my father who ran away with her, when he was no older than I am; and they had a son, who has been living not far from here, at Cortina, ever since. He is eight years older than I am."
"Philip!" she exclaimed, standing still, and fastening her eyes upon his face with an air of incredulity, ready to break into a laugh as soon as the joke was repeated.
"I cannot bear to speak of it, even to you," he said gravely. "I wish to God it was not true. But I have read Sophy's last letter to Rachel Goldsmith, and there is no mistake. It is undeniably true. What is worse, my mother is going away this morning. She sent for me last night, and said I must take her away by the first train this morning. She looked as if it would kill her. She wishes to go, and I see it is best. It is best for her and my father to be separated for a while."
"Separated!" ejaculated Phyllis. "Your father and mother!"
"For a time only, I trust," said Philip. "It has been too great a blow for her. Don't you understand, my Phyllis? She has loved the Goldsmiths so much, and she remembers Sophy quite well, and has always been deeply interested in the mystery of her disappearance. And now the sudden discovery of this secret of my father's is too much for her. I have telegraphed for Rachel to come to Berne, and I am going to take my mother there at once, and then come back here to you and Dorothy."
"But are you quite sure there is a son living?" inquired Phyllis.
"I have seen him, and spoken to him," he replied. "He has some resemblance to my father, and he is very like old Andrew. Dorothy saw the likeness in a moment. The worst of it is that he has lived among the lowest of the people, and seems almost imbecile. He is about thirty years of age, and is as ignorant as a savage. Poor fellow! poor fellow!"