I now return to that part of the story which most interests and concerns you.

My poor mother was compelled, within a fortnight after we landed in New York, to give up the dangerous infant who was always to hang like a cloud between fortune and honour.

The maid-servant was paid well for her silence.

By the way, she died mysteriously soon after coming to America, but not before giving to my mother a signed paper setting forth clearly every detail in so far as it bore upon her connection with the hateful transaction.

Conscience was forever at work in my mother's heart; honour was constantly struggling to the surface, only to be held back by fear of and loyalty to the man she loved.
"It was decided that the most humane way to put you out of existence was to leave you on the doorstep of some kindly disposed person, far from New York.