I left Matlock Island I

"I have no son," he said, "but among the many, many things I learned from yours was that no matter how hard it is, my first and only allegiance is to Almighty God." "Dane was your son too," said Meggie. He stared at her blankly. "What?" "I said, Dane was your son too. When I left Matlock Island I was pregnant. Dane was yours, not Luke O'neill's." "It-isn't-true!" "I never intended you to know, even now," she said. "Would I lie to you?" "To get Dane back? Yes," he said faintly. She got up, came to stand over him in the red brocade chair, took his thin, parchment-like hand in hers, bent and kissed the ring, the breath of her voice misting its ruby to milky dullness. "By all that you hold holy, Ralph, I swear that Dane was your son. He was not and could not have been Luke's. By his death I swear it." There was a wail, the sound of a soul passing between the portals of Hell. Ralph de Bricassart fell forward out of the chair and wept, huddled on the crimson carpet in a scarlet pool like new blood, his face hidden in his folded arms, his hands clutching at his hair. "Yes, cry!" said Meggie. "Cry, now that you know! It's right that one of his parents be able to shed tears for him. Cry, Ralph! For twenty-six years I had your son and you didn't even know it, you couldn't even see it. Couldn't see that he was you all over again! When my mother took him from me at birth she knew, but you never did. Your hands, your. feet, your face, your eyes, your body. Only the color of his hair was his own; all the rest was you. Do you understand now? When I sent him here to you, I said it in my letter. "What I stole, I give back." Remember? Only we both stole, Ralph. We stole what you had vowed to God, and we've both had to pay."

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