REVELATIONS.

It was only natural that a silence should ensue between these two so strangely brought together. Claude, seated pale and anguished in his chair, tried to collect his thoughts, and stared wildly at his mother. She, with her face buried in the cushions, sobbed bitterly. After the way in which her son had spoken, it was cruel that she should have been forced to make such a revelation at such a moment. He condemned, he reproached, her conduct in the past, and she again tasted the full bitterness of the cup which had been held to her lips twenty-five years before.

On his part Claude did not know what to say; he hardly knew what to think. Convinced by a perusal of the papers that his mother was morally guilty of his father's death, he was overwhelmed to find that she was still alive, and capable, for all he knew, of offering a defense for her share in the tragedy. After all, he had no right to judge her until he heard what she had to say. Blood is thicker than water, and she was his mother.

Now he saw the reason why Hilliston objected to his calling at Hampstead; why he advised him to let sleeping dogs lie. After so long a period it was worse than useless to bring mother and son together. Their thoughts, their aims, their lives, were entirely diverse, and only pain could be caused by such a meeting. Claude silently acknowledged the wisdom of Hilliston's judgment, but at the same time could hardly refrain from condemning him for having kept him so long in ignorance of the truth.

Mrs. Bezel—as we must still continue to call her—was astonished at this long silence, but raised her head to cast a timid glance at Claude. His brow was gloomy, his lips were firmly set, and he looked anything but overjoyed at the revelation which she had made. Guessing his thoughts, the unhappy woman made a gesture of despair, and spoke in a low voice, broken by sobs.

"You, too, condemn me?"

"No, mother," he replied, and Mrs. Bezel winced as she heard him acknowledge the relationship; "I do not condemn you. I have heard one side of the question. I must now hear the other—from you."

"What more can I tell you than what you already know," she said, drying her eyes.

"I must know the reason why you let me think you dead all these years."

"It was by my own wish, and by the advice of Mr. Hilliston."

Claude bit his lip at the mention of this name, and cast a hasty glance round the splendidly furnished room. A frightful suspicion had entered his mind; but she was his mother, and he did not dare to give it utterance. His mother guessed his thoughts, and spared him the pain of speaking. With a womanly disregard for the truth she promptly lied concerning the relationship which her son suspected to exist between his guardian and herself.

"You need not look so black, Claude, and think ill of me. I am unfortunate, but not guilty. All that you see here is mine; purchased by my own money."

"Your own money?" replied Claude, heaving a sigh of relief.

"Yes! Mr. Hilliston, who has been a good friend to me, saved sufficient out of my marriage settlement to enable me to furnish this cottage, and live comfortably. It is just as well," added she bitterly, "else I might have died on the streets."

"But why did you let Hilliston bring me up to think I was an orphan?"

"I did not wish to shadow your life. I did not wish you to change your name. I had to change mine, and retire from the world, but that was part of my punishment."

"Still if——"

"It was impossible, I tell you, Claude," interrupted his mother impatiently. "When you grew up you would have asked questions, and then I would have been forced to tell you all."

"Yet, in spite of your precautions, I do know all. If you took all this trouble to hide the truth, why reveal it to me now?"

Mrs. Bezel pointed to three books lying on an adjacent table. Claude quite understood what she meant.

"I see," he remarked, before she could speak, "you think that the author of that book knows about my father's murder."

"I am certain he does. But what he knows, or how he knows, I cannot say. Still, I am certain of one thing, that he tells the story from hearsay."

"What makes you think that?"

"It would take too long to tell you my reasons. It is sufficient to state that the fictitious case differs from the real case in several important particulars. For instance," she added, with a derisive smile, "the guilty person is said to be Michael Dene, and he is——"

"Is drawn from Mr. Hilliston."

"How do you know that?" she asked, with a startled air.

Claude shrugged his shoulders. "I have eyes to read and brains to comprehend," he said quietly; "There is no doubt in my mind that the lawyer of the fiction is meant for the lawyer of real life. Otherwise, I think the writer drew on his imagination. It was necessary for him to end his story by fixing on one of the characters as a criminal; and owing to the exigencies of the plot, as developed by himself, he chose Michael Dene, otherwise Mr. Hilliston, as the murderer."

"But you don't think——"

"Oh, no! I don't think Mr. Hilliston is guilty. I read the trial very carefully, and moreover I do not see what motive he could have to commit the crime."

"The motive of Michael Dene is love for the murdered man's wife."

"In other words, the author assumes that Hilliston loved you," said Claude coolly; "but I have your assurance that such is not the case."

"You speak to me like that," cried Mrs. Bezel angrily; "to your mother?"

Larcher's expression did not change. He turned a trifle paler, and compressed his lips firmly, otherwise he gave no outward sign of his emotion. Knowing so much of the case as he did, he could not look on this woman in the light of a mother; she had indirectly contributed to his father's death; she had deserted him for twenty-five years; and now that she claimed his filial reverence, he was unwilling to yield it to her. Perhaps he was unjust and harsh to think this, but the natural tie between them was so weakened by time and ignorance that he could find no affection in his heart to bestow on her. To him she was a stranger—nothing more.

"Let us understand each other," he said coldly. "That you are my mother is no doubt true, but I ask you if you have performed your maternal duties? You obliterated yourself from my life; you left me to be brought up by strangers; in all ways you only consulted your own desires. Can you then expect me to yield you that filial obedience which every mother has a right to expect from her son? If you——"

"Enough, sir," said Mrs. Bezel, white with anger, "say no more. I understand you only too well, and now regret that I sought this interview, which has resulted so ill. I hoped that you would be glad to find your mother still alive; that you would cherish her in her affliction. I see I was wrong. You are as cold and bitter as was your father."

"My father?"

"Yes. Do you think that all the wrong was on my side. Had I nothing to forgive him? Ah! I see by your face that you know to what I allude. It was your father and my husband who betrayed me for Mona Bantry."

"You have no proof of that," said Claude, in a low voice.

"I have every proof. The girl told me with her own lips. I returned from that ball at three o'clock in the morning, and Mr. Jeringham left me at the door. I entered the house alone and proceeded to my sitting room. There I found Mona and—my husband."

"Ah! He did return from London on that night?"

"Yes. He returned, thinking I was out of the way, in order to see his mistress. In his presence she confessed her guilt. I looked to him for denial, and he hung his head. Then hardly knowing what I did, overcome with rage, I snatched the dagger which I wore as part of my costume, and——"

"And killed him," shrieked Claude, springing to his feet. "For Heaven's sake, do not confess this to me!"

"Why not? I did no wrong! I did not kill him. I fainted before I could cross the room to where he stood. When I recovered I was alone. My husband and Mona Bantry had disappeared. Then I retired to bed and was ill for days. I know no more of the case."

"Is this true?" asked Claude anxiously.

"Why should it not be true? Do you think I would invent a story like that to asperse the memory of your father? Vilely as he treated me, I loved him. I do not know who killed him. The dagger I wore disappeared with him. It was found in the garden; his body in the river four miles down. But I declare to you solemnly that I am ignorant of whose hand struck the blow. It might have been Mona, or Jeringham, or——"

"Or Hilliston!"

"You are wrong there," replied his mother coolly, "or else your judgment has been perverted by that book. Mr. Hilliston was still at the ball when the tragedy occurred. His evidence at the trial proved that. Don't say a word against him. He has been a good friend to you—and to me."

"I do not deny that."

"You cannot! When I was arrested and tried for a crime which I never committed, he stood by me. When I left the court alone and friendless, he stood by me. I decided to feign death to escape the obloquy which attaches to every suspected criminal. He found me this refuge and installed me here as Mrs. Bezel. He took charge of you and brought you up, and looked after your money and mine. Don't you dare to speak against him!"

Exhausted by the fury with which she had spoken, the unfortunate woman leaned back in her chair. Claude, already regretting his harshness, brought a glass of water, which he placed to her lips. After a few minutes she revived, and feebly waved him away; but he was not to be so easily dismissed.

"I am sorry I spoke as I did, mother," he said tenderly, arranging her pillows. "Now that I have heard your story, I see that you have suffered greatly. It is not my right to reproach you. No doubt you acted for the best; therefore, I do not say a word against you or Mr. Hilliston, but ask you to forgive me."

The tears were rolling down Mrs. Bezel's cheeks as he spoke thus, and without uttering a word, she put her hand in his in token of forgiveness. Claude pressed his lip to her faded cheek, and thus reconciled—as much as was possible under the circumstances—they began to talk of the case.

"What do you intend to do?" asked Mrs. Bezel weakly.

"Find out who killed my father."

"It is impossible—after five-and-twenty years. I have told you all I know, and you see I cannot help you. I do not know whom to suspect."

"You surely have some suspicion, mother?"

"No, I have no suspicions. Whomsoever killed your father took the dagger out of my sitting room."

"Perhaps Mona——"

"I think not. She had no reason to kill him."

"He had wronged her."

"And me!" cried Mrs. Bezel vehemently. "Do not talk any more of these things, Claude. I know nothing more; I can tell you nothing more."

"Then I must try and find John Parver, and learn how he became acquainted with the story."

"That is why I sent for you; why I revealed myself; why I told you all I have suffered. Find John Parver, and tell me who he is, what he is."

This Claude promised to do, and, as his mother was worn out by the long conversation, he shortly afterward took his leave. As he descended Fitzjohn's Avenue a thought flashed into his mind as to the identity of John Parver.

"I wonder if John Parver is Mark Jeringham?" said Claude.

The question was to be answered on that very evening.