Again Clifford moved restlessly, for the man's malice irritated him excessively, for he began to realize now, as he never had before, something of what his mother's wrongs and sufferings had been, and how this vindictive man had oppressed her to gratify a mean revenge.
"You think I was a 'wretch,' too, no doubt," said the squire. "I don't deny it; but you know the old saying that 'even a worm will turn when trod upon,' and my heart had been trampled to adamant and I had sworn that I would have my pay for it. Your mother never went by her husband's surname after she came back—she called herself Mrs. Faxon, for she did not want you to know anything about the troubles of her life until you were old enough to comprehend them clearly. That was why she would never talk with you about your father. She had a first-rate education, having stood at the head of her class when she graduated from the Normal School in New Haven, and so she decided to open a private school in her own house and try to get her living that way. She managed to just about cover her expenses, except that she couldn't meet the interest on that mortgage, during the last few years, and so the place came into my hands, as you know, when she died. I didn't press her for the money, and I didn't show my hoofs to her very much. I—well, I had my reasons for it, as you will see." The man faltered and changed color here a trifle.
"So," he went on, bracing himself after a moment, "she naturally believed that I had wiped out old scores; but I hadn't. I simply wanted to work out certain plans which I had in view for you, and when I proposed that she should bind you to me for a term of years she fell into the trap without a suspicion, believing that I would look out for your future interests, and, if at any time your father's death could be proved, you would come in for a certain share of the property. But that was the very thing that I was determined should never happen, and so, when, the night before she died, she sent for me and gave me a box of letters and other papers explaining your parentage to keep for you until your time was out——"
"What!" cried Clifford, flushing crimson with sudden indignation, "and you never gave them to me! Why have you done this—this wicked, inhuman thing—why have you kept them from me?"
"Because of that old devil in me, I suppose," was the dogged response. "The hatred which I had been nursing against your father and mother for so many years seemed to concentrate upon you. I never meant you should know who your father was, nor your relationship to me, nor that you should get a penny of your grandmother's property, if I could help it."
"Did my grandmother make a will?" Clifford briefly inquired.
"No, there was no will; but as nothing was ever heard of my brother, and as I had managed everything for years, the property has all remained in my hands," the squire replied.
"Why have you told me all this now—why have you changed your mind and revealed these secrets?" Clifford demanded as he leaned forward and gazed steadily into his companion's face. Something about him seemed to fascinate the man, for he regarded him with a peculiar, searching look for a full minute.
"Your eyes are very like your mother's," he musingly observed. "She had the most beautiful eyes I ever saw, and your features are something like hers. I used to think you looked like your father, but you have changed during the last few years, and you make me think of her to-night. Oh!"—with a sudden start and giving himself a rough shake—"why have I told you this story now? Well, for one reason, I was compelled to do so. I thought that box of papers would never see the light again—I meant to have burned it long ago, but kept putting it off—but fate has taken the matter entirely out of my hands. I had it safely locked away in an old trunk, with a lot of other papers, but while Maria was cleaning house, after I came to Washington, the trunk got a fall, was smashed, and she found it. She brought it along with her, and this morning she informed me that I must relate the facts of your history to you or she should take the matter into her own hands. Of course, I preferred to face the inevitable," he concluded stoically.
"What are the papers in the box?" queried Clifford.