“Then,” said Yram half hysterically to herself, “he knew who you were. Now, how, I wonder, did he find that out?” All vestige of doubt as to who the man might be had now left her.
“Certainly he knew who I was. He spoke about you more than once, and wished us every kind of prosperity, baring his head reverently as he spoke.”
“Poor fellow! Did he say anything about Higgs?”
“A good deal, and I was surprised to find he thought about it all much as we do. But when I said that if I could go down into the hell of which Higgs used to talk to you while he was in prison, I should expect to find him in its hottest fires, he did not like it.”
“Possibly not, my dear. Did you tell him how the other boys, when you were at school, used sometimes to say you were son to this man Higgs, and that the people of Sunch’ston used to say so also, till the Mayor trounced two or three people so roundly that they held their tongues for the future?”
“Not all that, but I said that silly people had believed me to be the Sunchild’s son, and what a disgrace I should hold it to be son to such an impostor.”
“What did he say to this?”
“He asked whether I should feel the disgrace less if Higgs were to undo the mischief he had caused by coming back and shewing himself to the people for what he was. But he said it would be no use for him to do so, inasmuch as people would kill him but would not believe him.”
“And you said?”
“Let him come back, speak out, and chance what might befall him. In that case, I should honour him, father or no father.”