“I ask no thanks; I have simply done my duty,” replied Ralph, quietly and coldly, though he gazed searchingly in the other’s face. Then, after a moment, he added, while the hot blood rushed over his features, “Perhaps it is right that you should know who I am. My name is Ralph Moulton Ellerton.”
“You!” he gasped, staggering back as if some one had struck him.
“Yes, sir; and, of course, with your blood flowing in my veins, I could not see him do this thing,” returned the young man.
“Ah, my friend, I know what you think, and I assure you you have been grossly deceived about your history, and are not so much to be blamed for the part you have taken against me and mine.”
“What! do you mean still to deny our relationship?” asked Ralph, an indignant sparkle replacing the former cold glitter of his eye.
“I have never denied the true relationship existing between us. But I have never wronged you, neither have I ever done you any good. How could I, when you were in the hands of my bitterest foe? Had he not taken you, believe me, I would never have allowed you to suffer,” said his companion, earnestly.
Ralph gazed at him half wonderingly; he could not doubt the truthful look which he saw upon his face, yet he asked severely:
“Do you mean to say that you have never done me wrong in denying your own flesh and blood, and have you never done me wrong in the injury you have done my mother? What am I if I am not your son?”
“You are not my son. I swear it! I told you that you had been cruelly deceived. You are the son of my brother, who married your mother in secret, or rather, without consulting his friends, and shame be upon him, deserted her soon after your birth.”
“Is this true?” demanded Ralph, pale and faint.