She flushed deeply at his cruel insinuations, but replied, sadly:
“If there is one particle of filial affection in his heart he will show it, and believe me when I show him this.”
She held up the brooch before him.
He had forgotten she had it, but he now knew that she could prove her story with it, and he resolved to gain possession of it by fair means or foul.
“You said you were destitute,” he said, trying to assume a more friendly air; “what will you sell me that bauble for? I will give you a good price for it.”
“I thank you, sir,” she replied, with biting scorn. “But I do not choose to part with such valuable evidence in my behalf. No, sir! this will prove my story, and I will use it. Such wickedness as you meditate shall not go on.”
“You talk well of wickedness; pray, how long since you became such a saint? But enough of this,” he added, sternly. “How do you suppose Ralph would receive your story? Do you think he would love a woman who had brought him into the world to suffer shame and disgrace? Do you think he would feel tenderly toward a mother who confesses she deserted him in infancy, and led a dissolute, abandoned life ever since? And, moreover, would he thank you for revealing to him the fact that he had no name? Madam, take warning; you don’t know your son as well as I do.”
“Oh!” wept the desolate creature, realizing the truth of all he said. “But you lied to him about his parentage, and—”
“What of that? Ought not his name to be Ralph Ellerton?”
“Yes, oh, yes; but——”