"You don't know what you are doing!" she cried. "Go no
farther, or you will all curse the hand that harmed a hair of his head;
you, most of all, Richard Bassett."
Sir Charles, in any other case, would have sent her out of the room;
but, in his misery, he caught at the straw.
"Speak out, woman," he said, "and save the wretched boy, if you can. I
see no way."
"There are things it is not fit to speak before all the world. Bid
those men go, and I'll open your eyes that stay."
Then Richard Bassett foresaw another triumph, so he told the constable
and his man they had better retire for a few minutes, "while," said he,
with a sneer, "these wonderful revelations are being made."
When they were gone, Mary turned to Richard Bassett, and said "Why do
you want him sent to prison?--to spite Sir Charles here, to stab his
heart through his son."
Sir Charles groaned aloud.
The woman heard, and thought of many things. She flung herself on her
knees, and seized his hand. "Don't you cry, my dear old master; mine is
the only heart shall bleed. HE IS NOT YOUR SON."
"What!" cried Sir Charles, in a terrible voice.
"That is no news to me," said Richard. "He is more like the parson than
Sir Charles Bassett."
"For shame! for shame!" cried Mary Meyrick. "Oh, it becomes you to give
fathers to children when you don't know your own flesh and blood! He is
YOUR SON, RICHARD BASSETT.
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