"Not your son!" I cried, "how can that be?"
She did not answer me, and my memory flashed back to the time when Deborah Teague had hinted that she was not my mother. Now her mad jealousy of my position was explained. Now I knew why Wilfred was all and I was nothing. This woman was not my mother, and as a consequence true affection had not existed between us.
"Whose son am I, then?" I continued, after a pause, "and who is my mother."
"I shall not say," she said, "it is enough that you are not my son."
"And my sisters, Elizabeth and Katherine, are they not really my sisters? If not, who are they, and who are you?"
"I shall not tell you," she said, and then stopped, as if in doubt. "Yes, I will though," she continued. "You are not my son, for you are the son of your father's first wife. No one here knew that he was married before he married me, I made him promise none should. He never brought his first wife home here, for he married her privately. He would have brought her home when you were born had she not died. A few months afterwards he married me, and I came home as his wife, and you passed as my child, it being given out that we had been married more than a year. When I had a child of my own I hated you, and when I saw your father loved you best I hated you more. Now you know why I have always been your enemy." This information stunned me. I had not expected this kind of meeting. As yet no definite word had been spoken concerning the real object of my coming all the way from Asia. I determined, however, to do my duty and to confess my sin. Only when I had realised strength to do the right had I realised ease of conscience, and because Wilfred was only my half-brother was no reason why I should keep back the words that seemed to burn my lips.
I was about to speak again and tell all when I saw a form in the doorway which made me think my senses must have left me, and I had become a madman.