As between him and me, he knows everything; George is
his son, not yours; we have settled it so, though we both know otherwise;
as between you and me, for this one hour, here, there is no use in
pretending that you are not George's father. I have said all I need say.
Now, tell me what I asked you--Why are you here?"
"I fear," said my father, set at rest by the sweetness of Yram's voice
and manner--he told me he had never seen any one to compare with her
except my mother--"I fear, to do as much harm now as I did before, and
with as little wish to do any harm at all."
He then told her all that the reader knows, and explained how he had
thought he could have gone about the country as a peasant, and seen how
she herself had fared, without her, or any one, even suspecting that he
was in the country.
"You say your wife is dead, and that she left you with a son--is he like
George?"
"In mind and disposition, wonderfully; in appearance, no; he is dark and
takes after his mother, and though he is handsome, he is not so
good-looking as George."
"No one," said George's mother, "ever was, or ever will be, and he is as
good as he looks."
"I should not have believed you if you had said he was not."
"That is right. I am glad you are proud of him. He irradiates the lives
of every one of us.
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