“You have been urging me,” he said, “to find out what my mother knows.  I have not liked to press the subject while she was so ill, as she always met every hint of it with tears and agitation.  However, at last, Lida brought her to it, and we really believe she knows no more than we do what became of her first husband.  She never heard of him after she fled from him.  She was almost a child, and he had been very cruel to her.  But she did tell us where we may be nearly certain of finding out, namely from Signor Menotti, Via San Giacomo, Genoa, or his successors, a man who trained singers and performers, and moreover took charge of Benista’s money, and she thinks he had considerable savings.  Poor woman, I believe she had no idea of the harm she might be doing me, though it was scarcely in human nature to see prosperity look so aggressive without trying to profit thereby; and when she had put herself into O’Leary’s power, the notion was to make an income out of me by private threats and holding their tongues.  That I should have any objection to such an arrangement, except on economical principles, never entered their heads, and they tried to make as much as possible out of either me or Clement, by withholding all the information possible till it was paid for, and our simultaneous refusal to be blackmailed entirely disconcerted them, and made them furious.  Lida said the man was violent with her mother for letting out even what she did to Lance, and he meant to put a heavy price even on the final disclosure, in the trust (which I share) that it may prove the key to the mystery.  She had no notion that the doubt was upsetting my position.  Poor thing, she never had a chance in her life-—gipsy breeding at first, then Benista’s tender mercies and the wandering life.  She could not fail to love my father till his requirements piqued her, and it was a quarrel, exasperated perhaps by the commencement of his illness, over her neglect of my unlucky self, and her acceptance of Schnetterling’s attentions, that led to her abandoning him.  I really do not think she ever realized that it was a sin.  That good Pere Duchamps is the first priest of any kind she ever listened to, and he has had a great effect upon her.  He would like to extend it to Lida and me, but Lida is staunch to her well-beloved Mr. Flight as well as to me, and there is a church on the other side the bay to which I take her when our patient is well enough to spare her to walk, or we can afford the crossing.  Easter was a comfort there.

“The warm weather has revived the patient, and she may live some months longer, though she is a mere skeleton.  Lida tends her in the most affectionate manner, and is really a little angel in her way.  She has got some private pupils in music, and is delighted to bring in grist to the mill, which grinds hard enough to make me realize the old days you are so fond of recollecting.