Pluma tried to speak, but no sound issued from her white lips. The very tone of the woman’s voice carried positive conviction with it. A dim realization was stealing over her that this woman’s face, and the peculiar tone of her voice, were strangely mixed up with her childhood dreams; and, try as she would to scoff at the idea, it seemed to be gaining strength with every moment.
“You do not believe me, I see,” pursued the woman, calmly. “There is nothing but the stern facts that will satisfy you. You shall have them. They are soon told: Years ago, when I was young and fair as you are now, I lived at the home of a quiet, well-to-do spinster, Taiza Burt. She had a nephew, an honest, well-to-do young fellow, who worshiped me, much to the chagrin of his aunt; and out of pique one day I married him. I did not love the honest-hearted fellow, and I lived with him but a few brief months. I hated him––yes, hated him, for I had seen another––young, gay and handsome––whom I might have won had it not been for the chains which bound me. He was a handsome, debonair college fellow, as rich as he was handsome. This was Basil Hurlhurst, the planter’s only son and heir. Our meeting was romantic. I had driven over to the village in which the college was situated, on an errand for Taiza. Basil met me driving through the park. He was young, reckless and impulsive. He loved me, and the knowledge of his wealth dazzled me. I did not tell him I was a wife, and there commenced my first sin. My extreme youth and ignorance of the world must plead for me––my husband or the world would never know of it. I listened to his pleading, and married him––that is, we went through the ceremony. He had perfect faith in its sincerity. I alone knew the guilty truth. Yet enormous as was my crime, I had but a dim realization of it.
“For one brief week I was dazzled with the wealth and jewels he lavished upon me; but my conscience would not let me rest when I thought of my honest-hearted husband, from whom I had fled and whom I had so cruelly deceived.
“My love for Basil was short lived; I was too reckless to care much for any one. My conscience bade me fly from him. I gathered up what money and jewels I could, and fled. A few months after you were born; and I swear to you, by the proofs I can bring you, beyond all shadow of a doubt, you were my lawful husband’s child, not Basil’s.
“Soon after this event a daring thought came to me. I could present you, ere long, with myself, at Whitestone Hall. Basil Hurlhurst would never know the deception practiced upon him; and you, the child of humble parentage, should enjoy and inherit his vast wealth. My bold plan was successful. We had a stormy interview, and it never occurred to him there could be the least deception––that I was not his lawful wife, or you his child.
“I found Basil had learned to despise even more fiercely than he had ever loved me.
“He took us abroad, refusing to speak or look upon my face, even though he escorted us. In a fit of desperation I threw myself into the sea, but I was rescued by another vessel. A strong inclination seized me to again visit Whitestone Hall and see what disposition he had made of you. Years had passed; you were then a child of five years.
“One terrible stormy night––as bad a night as this one––I made my way to the Hall. It was brilliantly lighted up, just as it is to-night.
“I saw the gate was locked; and through the flashes of lightning I saw a little girl sobbing wildly, flung face downward in the grass, heedless of the storm.