Paul sprung to his feet.
"It is a lie!" he cried.
"See for yourself," said Hugh Ritson; and taking three papers from his pocket, he threw them on to the table. They were the copies of certificates which Bonnithorne had given him.
Paul glanced at them with vacant and wandering eyes, fell back in his chair, dropped his head on to the table, and groaned.
"Oh, God! can this thing be?"
"When your mother told you that you were an illegitimate son, she omitted to say by what father. That was natural in her, but cruel to you. I knew the truth from the first."
"Then you are a scoundrel confessed!" cried Paul.
Hugh rolled his head slightly, and made a poor pretense to smile.
"I knew how she had passed from one man to another; I knew what her honor counted for. And yet I was silent—silent, though by silence I lost my birthright. Say, now, if you will, which of us—you or I—has been the true guardian of our mother's name?"
Paul got up again, abject, crushed, trembling in every limb.