Chapter 21 - Page 2

she never flinched. "You shall hear the truth from me,
darling," she said, with a gentle touch. "You have always heard
it."

They passed under the doorway and up the stairs in silence. As
soon as they were in the sitting-room, Dolly fronted Herminia
fiercely. "Mother," she cried, with the air of a wild creature at
bay, "were you married to my father?"

Herminia's cheek blanched, and her pale lips quivered as she nerved
herself to answer; but she answered bravely, "No, darling, I was
not. It has always been contrary to my principles to marry."

"YOUR principles!" Dolores echoed in a tone of ineffable, scorn.
"YOUR principles! Your PRINCIPLES! All my life has been
sacrificed to you and your principles!" Then she turned on her
madly once more. "And WHO was my father?" she burst out in her
agony.

Herminia never paused. She must tell her the truth. "Your
father's name was Alan Merrick," she answered, steadying herself
with one hand on the table. "He died at Perugia before you were
born there. He was a son of Sir Anthony Merrick, the great doctor
in Harley Street."

The worst was out. Dolly stood still and gasped. Hot horror
flooded her burning cheeks. Illegitimate! illegitimate!
Dishonored from her birth! A mark for every cruel tongue to aim
at! Born in shame and disgrace! And then, to think what she might
have been, but for her mother's madness! The granddaughter of two
such great men in their way as the Dean of Dunwich and Sir Anthony
Merrick.

She drew back, all aghast. Shame and agony held her. Something of
maiden modesty burned bright in her cheek and down her very neck.
Red waves coursed through her. How on earth after this could she
face Walter Brydges?

"Mother, mother!" she broke out, sobbing, after a moment's pause,
"oh, what have you done? What have you done? A cruel, cruel
mother you have been to me. How can I ever forgive you?"

Herminia gazed at her appalled. It was a natural tragedy. There
was no way out of it. She couldn't help seizing the thing at once,
in a lightning flash of sympathy, from Dolly's point of view, too.
Quick womanly instinct made her heart bleed for her daughter's
manifest shame and horror.

"Dolly, Dolly," the agonized mother cried, flinging herself upon
her child's mercy, as it were; "Don't be hard on me; don't be hard
on me! My darling, how could I ever guess you would look at it
like this? How could I ever guess my daughter and his would see
things for herself in so different a light from the light we saw
them in?"

"You had no right to bring me into the world at