My first intimation of the fact that I had a son was that morning when I sought you to express my grat.i.tude to you for having saved the life of my little daughter. The moment I looked into your eyes I was conscious that there was something strangely familiar about you, and when you told me that your name was Clifford Faxon, it seemed as if the earth was slipping out from underneath me. I knew the truth then, for your mother had often said that if she ever had a son she would name him Clifford, for her father; and I understood that she had refrained from giving you your true surname because she wished to keep from you the knowledge of who your father was.

"I have learned all about her life after she returned to New Haven, and also her history from Squire Talford. I know what you have had to meet and overcome, and that you have steadily and resolutely risen above every obstacle. I realize the fact that you are a young man, morally and intellectually, of whom any man might feel proud as a son, and yet, situated as I am, you can readily see that such a recognition would entail----"

"I beg that you will give yourself no uneasiness, sir; I have no desire to recognize such a tie, nor to have any one else informed of the fact,"

Clifford quietly interposed.

Mr. Temple changed color, yet at the same time the look of intense anxiety which his face had worn hitherto faded out and he drew a breath of relief.

"Very well; and now we have arrived at a point where I wish to discuss matters from a business point of view. I tell you candidly I adore my wife, I worship my child, and I would far rather that a millstone should crush me at this instant than have either learn the terrible facts regarding their true position. Therefore, I am going to throw myself upon your mercy; I know that you are an honorable man, and that your word would be as sacred to you as your oath, and I am going to ask you to pledge yourself never to reveal to any one the secret of my past. In return for such a pledge I will settle upon you outright the sum of three hundred thousand dollars----"

Clifford drew himself suddenly erect, and a statue could scarcely have been colder or more rigid.

"Mr. Temple," he interrupted, with a dignity that was most impressive, "there is not the slightest need of purchasing my silence. As I have said, I have no wish to have any part of this history known; my love for my mother, who was a pure, sweet, gentle woman, and my pride alike, forbid that I should lay any claim to kinship with you, and I would not accept a dollar of your money to save myself from starvation."

"You are hard on me, young man," said Mr. Temple, cringing beneath the scathing words as under a blow.

"Hard!" repeated Clifford, whose scorn for the man was almost beyond control, for he not only had his own and his mother's wrongs to remember, but the treachery of the man in connection with Mr.

Heatherford, "the greatest condemnation that could he p.r.o.nounced upon you, you have yourself voiced to-night in the heartless story which you have related to me; and let me a.s.sure you that I am actuated by no sympathy with or pity for you in promising that my lips will forever be sealed regarding our relations to each other, but out of regard alone for the dear child whom I saved from a terrible death, and for whom I have ever since entertained a strong affection. For her sake this secret, which would blight her young life, shall be guarded most sacredly--ah!--what does that mean?"

And Clifford paused briefly, a look of blank dismay upon his face, as a low, wailing, shuddering moan sounded through the room.

CHAPTER XXII.

"THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR."

That heart-broken cry struck instant terror to the souls of both men.

Clifford started to his feet, and Mr. Temple sprang forward, with a muttered oath, toward the portieres that screened an alcove at one end of the room, just as they parted, and Minnie Temple appeared in the aperture.

"Oh, papa, papa! what does it all mean?" she wailed as she fell into his outstretched arms, and he caught her almost fiercely to his breast. "I have heard every word that you have said. I came in here after dinner, laid down on the couch in the alcove and went to sleep. I awoke when Clifford Faxon came in, but was too late to leave; then when you began to talk I remained where I was--forgot everything but what you were saying. Oh, tell me, what is this dreadful story about mamma and me, and about Mr. Faxon being your son? I must know--I must know! I will know!"

The poor girl was fearfully wrought up, and at this point lapsed into violent hysterics that alarmed both her companions.

With the child still hugged to his bosom and a face like chalk, Mr.

Temple strode to the mantle and touched an electric b.u.t.ton.

"Send Mrs. Maxfield immediately--Miss Minnie is ill," he said when the butler appeared.

Then he attempted to soothe her, calling her every endearing name he could think of, and a.s.suring her that there was no story--she simply dreamed or had a horrible nightmare.

But she was past all reason, and when the housekeeper appeared she was borne up-stairs in an almost unconscious condition and put to bed, while Clifford quietly left the house, but with an exceedingly heavy heart.

A physician was summoned, and after powerful anodynes had been administered the child fell into a profound stupor, from which she did not arouse until the next morning.

But, of course, when the effects of the sleeping potion wore off and memory returned, the girl, who was mature beyond her years, sent for her father and insisted upon being told the truth about herself.

Mr. Temple tried to evade her as he had done the night previous, by trying to convince her that she had only been dreaming; but she a.s.serted that she knew better, and appealed to her mother--who had been out at a reception the night before--to make her father explain what she had overheard.

Mr. Temple was in despair--he felt that the web of fate was closing around him, and, for the first time in his life, fell into a violent pa.s.sion with her, sternly commanding her to stop questioning him regarding what was none of her affairs, but had been purely a matter of business between himself and Mr. Faxon.

Of course, the curiosity of both Mrs. Temple and Philip, who was also present, was aroused, and, upon their insistence, Minnie faithfully rehea.r.s.ed the conversation between her father and Clifford, and, thus brought to bay, the wretched millionaire was forced to make a clean breast of everything.

It was a crushing blow to the entire family. Mrs. Temple shut herself up in her own room and would see no one for three days.

Then she sent for Philip, who seemed to have been suddenly transformed, and bore himself with a grave dignity that he had never worn before.

They were closeted for several hours; then they requested Mr. Temple to come to them. He obeyed the summons, but appeared like an old man, out of whom all hope and ambition had been crushed.

He tried many times to see his wife during those three, to him, endless days; but she would not admit him. He had sent her note after note that were pitiful in their expressions of remorse and appeals for forgiveness. His heart sank anew within him as he now entered her presence and noted how she had also changed. When he would have greeted her with his customary caress he was waved to a distant chair with an air of repulsion.

"I have come to the decision, Mr. Temple, that there is but one thing for me to do," she began, but without looking at him, "and that is to leave Washington immediately, seek some place of retirement and hide my shame as best I can."

"Don't Nell! Oh--don't!" cried the stricken man, cringing before her; "no breath of shame shall touch you, my darling; we will right everything."

"Right everything!" exclaimed the outraged woman, turning upon him in righteous indignation. "Do you presume to talk of righting such a wrong as mine at this late day? Do you imagine that the formal benediction of a clergyman would restore to me the self-respect of which you have deliberately robbed me, or wipe out the stigma that rests upon my child?

I am not your wife--I have never been your wife--I have simply been, like a piece of merchandise, labeled with your name, and--I will never answer to it again."

"Oh, Nell! forgive--you break my heart!" groaned the wretched listener.

"Break your heart!" the almost maddened woman exclaimed with a bitter laugh. "Ah, me! one could scarce expect anything else--you think only of your heart, your suffering. It is all of a piece with the selfishness and recklessness that wrecked the life of that other woman, although the wrong done her is not to be compared with mine. She at least was a legal wife and her child legitimate, while I--oh, heavens!--to think what I am! what my child is!" and she threw out her clenched hands with a cry of mingled shame and agony that rang sharply through the room.

"Mother, hush! do not go over all that again!" Philip here interposed, with quiet authority. "There is no call for you to mourn any loss of self-respect, for you are in no way responsible for this wrong, and we will guard Minnie so tenderly that the world shall never have an opportunity to make her suffer a single pang. Of course," he continued with grave thoughtfulness, "things cannot go on as they are. If your decision--that you will not legally a.s.sume the name that you have hitherto borne--is irrevocable, we must arrange for as quiet a separation as possible, for Minnie's sake----"

"Oh, Nell! spare me that, I beg," pleaded Mr. Temple, with a heartbroken sob. "Oh, forgive me this great wrong; don't talk of separation; let me make you legally my wife, then we will go away to Europe--or anywhere you like--and I will be your slave--I will do my utmost to atone for the past and make you happy for the future. No one need ever know aught of this secret. Faxon is honor itself, and he a.s.sured me that no hint of it should ever escape his lips, and I am sure he would keep his word--Phil, you know that he can be depended upon."

"Yes," Philip gravely a.s.serted, after a moment of hesitation, "I know, if Faxon said that he will abide by it. But, Mr. Temple," he resumed in a tone which was an indication of his own att.i.tude, "I feel sure that my mother has received a shock from which she can never recover, and I agree with her that a separation will be the wisest measure to adopt under the circ.u.mstances."

"Let your mother speak for herself, if you please, Phil," Mr. Temple interrupted, as he braced himself in his chair and turned his haggard face toward the woman whom he adored.

The proud, beautiful worldling shivered as if an icy wind had blown over her, for she had loved this man who, for twelve almost idealistic years, she had regarded as her husband. She had scarce had a wish ungratified; she had enjoyed his wealth and been proud of her position in society.

But, as Philip had said, the shock which she had sustained had been one from which she could never rally, for it had killed both love and respect at one blow. She did not move or lift her glance to him as she said in an almost inaudible voice.

"Phil has stated it right--I can never forgive the fearful wrong that you have done me. We must part."

"How about--Minnie?" Mr. Temple questioned, a look of despair on his face.

It was an unfortunate question. It aroused all the lioness in the outraged woman, and she turned upon him with a burst of pa.s.sion of which he had never imagined her capable.

"Minnie is mine!" she cried in a voice that rang shrilly through the room--"mine by the right of motherhood and--oh, G.o.d!--mine, exclusively mine, by right of the shame which you have entailed upon us both."

It was a terrible thrust, and William Temple threw out his hands with a gesture of keenest anguish, as if warding off the point of a dagger. He sat like one stunned for several moments, and there was no sound in the room.

Finally the man lifted his bowed head and observed in a hollow tone and with a look of utter hopelessness:

"Very well, Nell, it will have to be as you say; but no breath of shame from the world shall ever touch either of you--I could not bear that. I know I deserve my punishment, and I bow to the inevitable. You shall have Minnie--I relinquish her to you--and you shall go where you will; or, if you prefer to remain here in Washington, I will go to the ends of the earth, on some plausible errand, and you shall never hear of me again.