You might have knocked me down
with a feather yesterday, when that fine funeral came out of the park
gates, and I saw your face at the window of one of the coaches. You
must have been an uncommonly clever young woman, and an uncommonly sly
one, to get a baronite for your husband, and to get a spooney old cove
to leave you all his fortune, after behaving so precious bad to him.
Did your husband know who you were when he married you?"
"He found me starving in the street of a country town. He knew that I
was friendless, homeless, penniless. That knowledge did not prevent him
making me his wife."
"Ah! but there was something more he didn't know. He didn't know that
you were Black Milsom's daughter; you didn't tell him that, I'll lay a
wager."
"I did not tell him that which I know to be a lie," replied Honoria,
calmly.
"Oh, it's a lie, is it? You are not my daughter, I suppose?"
"No, Thomas Milsom, I am not--I know and feel that I am not"
"Humph!" muttered Black Milsom, savagely; "if you were not my daughter,
how was it that you grew up to call me father?"
"Because I was forced to do so. I remember being told to call you
father. I remember being beaten because I refused to do so--
beaten till I submitted from very fear of being beaten to death. Oh, it
was a bright and happy childhood, was it not, Thomas Milsom? A
childhood to look back to with love and regret.
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