Harry, my beloved babe Harry, helped at first; but, as the years went on, he too began to despise me for my little intellect and slow intelligence, and he grew to be like you in all things--and secretive also, though I tried so hard to be to him what a mother should be.

Oh, Bobby, Bobby--I used to call you that in the days before we were married, and I will call you that now when all is over and done--why did you not tell me all?
Why did you not tell me that my boy, my baby Harry, was not your only child, that there had been another wife, and that your eldest son was alive?
"I know all.

I have known all for years.

The clergyman who married you to Mercy Claridge was a distant relative of my mother's, and before he died he told me.

When you married her, he knew you only as James Fetherdon, but, years afterwards, he saw and recognised you.