She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. But still you have told me of my real mother when I thought it was Suzanne Valade. Melusine sighed with frustration. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest.
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