“Nothing more.  I had to say this much to explain your mother’s motive.  One day Major Bertram called to see her.  He was going away.  Before he left he asked her to marry him.  She refused.  He persisted.  She told him her history.  He said he knew it already.  Then she put off her decision.  He might speak to her again on his return to Calcutta.  It was during Major Bertram’s absence that the temptation which led to your mother’s sin came to her.

“Little Josephine was now between a year and two years old.  On her mother’s side she was of low birth.  Major Bertram had married beneath him.  He had fallen desperately in love with the beautiful daughter of a strolling minstrel.  He had married her, found out his mistake when too late, but still, being a chivalrous and honorable man, had done his duty by his ignorant young wife; had never allowed her to guess at his feelings; and after her death had been filled with compunction for not loving her more, and had done everything he could to secure the welfare of their child.

“One person, however, he forbade the premises; with one individual he would have nothing to do.  That person was his wife’s father.  From the moment he laid his young wife in her grave, he ignored the very existence of Hart.  Your mother tells me, Bertram, that Hart was in all particuars a disreputable person.  He was nothing but a needy adventurer, and he only approached Major Bertram to sponge on him.

“During the Major’s absence your mother thought long and seriously of his proposals for her; the more she thought of them, the more desirable did they seem.  She thought of herself in the sheltered position of a good man’s wife.  Above all, she thought of you.  This marriage might save you.  Suppose Major Bertram, for love of her, consented to adopt you as his son, to give you his name, and to present you to the world as his own lawful child.  She thought this might be done; and the only difficulty in the way was the little bright-eyed, fair-haired Nina.

“Your mother did not wish to return to England calling Hart’s granddaughter her child.  She said she had an insuperable objection and repugnance to the idea, and an aversion for the poor little creature began to grow up in her mind.”

Bertram, who had sat during the greater part of this recital with his hand shading his eyes, now started up with an impatient and distressed exclamation.  The Rector looked at him, sighed heavily, and said in a voice of sympathy: 

“My poor boy, this is a very hard story for you to listen to.”

“Go on, Mr. Ingram,” said Bertram.  “Get it over quickly; that is all I have to ask you.”

“While these thoughts were troubling your mother,” continued the Rector, “she was one day surprised by a visit from Hart.  He said he had come to see his grandchild; and he took little Nina in his arms and kissed her.  Your mother says she scarcely knows how it was, but she and Hart began to talk about the child, and both simultaneously revealed to the other his and her real feelings.