him and leaning his back against it, "I must be told the whole truth. I must have it at least confirmed by your lips."
"My dear,"—Mrs. Saltren's voice shook—"I would not make mischief, for the world. I hate above everything the mischief-makers. If there be one kind of people I abhor it is those who make mischief; and I am, thank heaven, not one of such."
"Quite so," said her son, gravely; "but I must know what I have to believe, for I must act on it."
"Oh, my dear, do nothing! Let it remain, if you love me, just as if it had never been told. I should die of shame were it to come out."
"It shall not come out," said Giles; "but I must know from your lips, mother, whether I am—I cannot say it. My happiness, my future depend on my knowledge of what my real parentage is. You can understand that?"
"Well, then, it is true that you are not Stephen Saltren's son, and it is true that I was a shamefully-used and deceived woman, and that I had no bad intentions whatever. I was always a person of remarkable delicacy and refinement above my station. As for who your father was, I name no names; and, indeed, just now, when the captain asked me, I said the same—that I would name no names, and so I stick to the same resolution, and nothing more shall be torn from me, not if you were to tear me to pieces with a chain harrow."
"Come without," said the captain, "and you shall hear from me how it came to pass. We must spare your mother's feelings. She was not in fault, she was wickedly imposed on."
Then the mining captain moved to the door; Giles Inglett opened it, and stood aside to allow his reputed father to go through; then he followed him and shut the door behind them.
