"I am an illegitimate son."
One moment I sprang from him; the next I despised myself. But in spite of all my troubles, there still lurked in my heart the narrow pride of birth. Down to the earth it fell beneath the foot of true love, and I kissed away from his eyes the mingled reproach and sorrow, assuring him that at least he should have a legitimate wife.
To make amends, I leaned upon him one moment, and put my hand on his shoulder, and let him play awhile with the dark shower of my hair.
"Darling Conny, you have told me yours, now you shall hear my secret. Only promise me you will give tit for tat. You say you loved me ever since you saw me first; then you must have loved your Clara when you saved her life."
"What do you mean, my Clara? Those low ruffians in the Park were not going to kill you."
"No, dearest; I don't mean that at all. But there's a kiss for that, I have owed it you ever since. But what I mean no kisses can repay; no, nor a life of love. You saved a life worth fifty of my own."
Some dark alarm was growing in his eyes, on which I gazed with vague increasing terror.
"Why, dearest, it is nothing. Only your own Clara is not Clara Valence; you must call her 'Clara Vaughan.'"
With actual violence he thrust me from his arms, and stood staring at me, while I trembled from head to foot; his face was one scarlet flame.
"And pray, Sir, what harm have I done? Am I to suppose that you"--special emphasis meant for illegitimacy--"that you are ashamed of my father and me?"