“I knew you, and called you to me. I questioned you as to why the house was lighted, and learned the truth. Basil Hurlhurst had remarried; he had been abroad with his wife, and to-night he was bringing home his young wife.
“My rage knew no bounds. I commanded you to bring me the key of the gate. You obeyed. That night a little golden-haired child was born at Whitestone Hall, and I knew it would live to divide the honors and wealth of Whitestone Hall with you––my child.
“The thought maddened me. I stole the child from its mother’s arms, and fled. I expected to see the papers full of the terrible deed, or to hear you had betrayed me, a stranger, wanting the key of the gate.”
“My surprise knew no bounds when I found it was given out the child had died, and was buried with its young mother. I never understood why Basil Hurlhurst did not attempt to recover his child.
“I took the child far from here, placing it in a basket on the river brink, with a note pinned to it saying that I, the mother, had sinned and had sought a watery grave beneath the waves. I screened myself, and watched to see what would become of the child, as I saw a man’s form approaching in the distance.
“I fairly caught my breath as he drew near. I saw it was my own husband, whom I had so cruelly deserted years ago––your father, Pluma, who never even knew or dreamed of your existence.
“Carefully he lifted the basket and the sleeping babe. How he came in that locality I do not know. I found, by some strange freak of fate, he had taken the child home to his aunt Taiza, and there the little one remained until the spinster died.
“Again, a few years later, I determined to visit Whitestone Hall, when a startling and unexpected surprise presented itself. Since then I have believed in fate. All unconscious of the strange manner in which these two men’s lives had crossed each other, I found Basil Hurlhurst had engaged my own husband, and your father, John Brooks, for his overseer.”
Pluma gave a terrible cry, but the woman did not heed her.