"A week passed. You recovered from your cold, and became as lively
as ever. In fact, you seemed to feel quite at home among your new
surroundings, which was rather unfortunate, FOR YOUR FATHER NEVER CAME
BACK!"

"Never came back!" repeated Philip.

"No; nor was anything heard from him. Mr. and Mrs. Brent came to the
conclusion that the whole thing was prearranged to get rid of you.
Luckily for you, they had become attached to you, and, having no
children of their own, decided to retain you. Of course, some story had
to be told to satisfy the villagers. You were represented to be the
son of a friend, and this was readily believed. When, however, my late
husband left Ohio, and traveled some hundreds of miles eastward to this
place, he dropped this explanation and represented you as his own son.
Romantic, wasn't it?"

Philip looked searchingly at the face of his step-mother, or the woman
whom he had regarded as such, but he could read nothing to contradict
the story in her calm, impassive countenance. A great fear fell upon him
that she might be telling the truth. His features showed his contending
emotions. But he had a profound distrust as well as dislike of his
step-mother, and he could not bring himself to put confidence in what
she told him.

"What proof is there of this?" he asked, after a while.

"Your father's word. I mean, of course, Mr. Brent's word. He told me
this story before I married him, feeling that I had a right to know."