"And that man is my father!—you have taken my breath away by the revelation," said Clifford, with an air of bewilderment and a sudden sense of repulsion. "However, I have no desire to lay claim to any such relationship. Do you know where he went and how he made his money after he deserted my mother?"
"I've been told that he 'struck pay-gravel' in some Western mines; then went to San Francisco, where he set up as a banker, got into society there, and served one or two terms as Mayor of the city and met his present wife—who was a rich widow by the name of Wentworth and married her there. I learned this from a San Francisco man whom I met when I first came to Washington."
"When—how long ago was he married to this woman?" Clifford questioned, with a violent start.
"I'm sure I don't know—I haven't felt interest enough in their affairs to make any inquiries about the matter," said the squire indifferently. "I remember when I met him on that trip to Albany I told him that all the folks at home were gone. He said he knew it—he'd kept himself posted; so I suppose he must have married this woman after that."
But Clifford had grown deathly pale while he was speaking, for his mind had been working rapidly.
"No—no; great heaven;" he exclaimed, "I am sure he must have married her before my mother died!"
"What's that?" exclaimed the squire, and now all on the alert, while a malicious gleam flashed into his eyes.
"Yes, I am sure of it—oh! the shame of it!" groaned Clifford in deep distress, "and that dear, sweet child, Minnie, who is, of course, my half-sister, has no legal right to the name she bears; neither has her proud-spirited mother. What a wretch that man has been!"
"Hold on, my boy—don't go so fast," interposed his companion, with considerable excitement. "What is all this lament about?—explain what you mean."
"You have said that you have seen Mr. Temple's whole family; then of course you know that he has a beautiful little daughter about eleven years old——"