You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. ‘I am not a person, Marthe. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago.
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