Ailsa Paige | Page 3

of self-respect in me! Do you think
I'd take anything at your hands? I never cared for anybody in the world

except my mother. If what your lawyers tell me is true--" His voice
choked; he stood swaying a moment, face covered by his hands,
"Berkley!"
The young man's hands fell; he faced the other, who had risen to his
heavy six-foot height, confronting him across the table.
"Berkley, whatever claim you have on me--and I'm ignoring the chance
that you have none----"
"By God, I tell you I have none! I want none! What you have done to
her you have done to me! What you and your conscience and your
cruelty and your attorneys did to her twenty-four years ago, you have
done this day to me! As surely as you outlawed her, so have you
outlawed me to-day. That is what I now am, an outlaw!"
"It was insulted civilisation that punished, not I, Berkley----"
"It was you! You took your shrinking pound of flesh. I know your sort.
Hell is full of them singing psalms!"
Colonel Arran sat silently stern a moment. Then the congested muscles,
habituated to control, relaxed again. He said, under perfect
self-command:
"You'd better know the truth. It is too late now to discuss whose fault it
was that the trouble arose between your mother and me. We lived
together only a few weeks. She was in love with her cousin; she didn't
realise it until she'd married me. I have nothing more to say on that
score; she tried to be faithful, I believe she was; but he was a scoundrel.
And she ended by thinking me one.
"Even before I married her I was made painfully aware that our
dispositions and temperaments were not entirely compatible. I think,"
he added grimly, "that in the letters read to you this afternoon she used
the expression, 'ice and fire,' in referring to herself and me."

Berkley only looked at him.
"There is now nothing to be gained in reviewing that unhappy affair,"
continued the other. "Your mother's family are headlong, impulsive,
fiery, unstable, emotional. There was a last shameful and degrading
scene. I offered her a separation; but she was unwisely persuaded to sue
for divorce."
Colonel Arran bent his head and touched his long gray moustache with
bony fingers.
"The proceeding was farcical; the decree a fraud. I warned her; but she
snapped her fingers at me and married her cousin the next day. . . . And
then I did my duty by civilisation."
Still Berkley never stirred. The older man looked down at the
wine-soiled cloth, traced the outline of the crimson stain with unsteady
finger. Then, lifting his head:
"I had that infamous decree set aside," he said grimly. "It was a matter
of duty and of conscience, and I did it without remorse. . . . They were
on what they supposed to be a wedding trip. But I had warned her." He
shrugged his massive shoulders. "If they were not over-particular they
were probably happy. Then he broke his neck hunting--before you were
born."
"Was he my father?"
"I am taking the chance that he was not."
"You had reason to believe----"
"I thought so. But--your mother remained silent. And her answer to my
letters was to have you christened under the name you bear to-day,
Philip Ormond Berkley. And then, to force matters, I made her status
clear to her. Maybe--I don't know--but my punishment of her may have
driven her to a hatred of me--a desperation that accepted
everything--even you!"

Berkley lifted a countenance from which every vestige of colour had
fled.
"Why did you tell me this?"
"Because I believe that there is every chance--that you may be legally
entitled to my name. Since I have known who you are, I--I have had
you watched. I have hesitated--a long while. My brokers have watched
you for a year, now; my attorneys for much longer. To-day you stand in
need of me, if ever you have stood in need of anybody. I take the
chance that you have that claim on me; I offer to receive you, provide
for you. That is all, Berkley. Now you know everything."
"Who else--knows?"
"Knows what?"
"Knows what you did to my mother?"
"Some people among the families immediately concerned," replied
Colonel Arran coolly.
"Who are they?"
"Your mother's relatives, the Paiges, the Berkleys--my family, the
Arrans, the Lents----"
"What Lents?" interrupted the young man looking up sharply.
"They live in Brooklyn. There's a brother and a sister, orphans; and an
uncle. Captain Josiah Lent."
"Oh. . . . Who else?"
"A Mrs. Craig who lives in Brooklyn. She was Celia Paige, your
mother's maid of honour."
"Who else?"

"A sister-in-law of Mrs. Craig, formerly my ward. She is now a widow,