The others withdrew, and Rose stepped forward.
‘You’ve been good to my boy,’ said the patient slowly, as if it were hard to talk.
‘What do you mean? The boy I took from Sloville?’
‘Yes.’
‘But someone has written to me to say that he is the heir of Sir Watkin Strahan.’
‘Yes, he is. I stole him.’
‘Stole him! Why, how could you do such a thing?’ asked the actress excitedly.
‘For revenge!’ exclaimed the poor woman, with all the energy she could collect, and then fell back exhausted. For a time both were silent, and Rose watched with pity the face, stained by intemperance and sensuality and all evil living, wondering what could be the connection between that poor pauper in the hospital and the proud deceased Baronet.
‘Read this paper,’ said the poor woman.
‘Oct. 187-. Saw my pore boy on a brogham at the theatre. I knowed him at once. His father is Sir Watkin Strahan, and he was on the box of Miss Howard’s brogham. I lost him as I was going to speak to him. The peeler told me to be off.’