‘Thank you, thank you!’ she exclaimed, reddening with pleasure at the sound of his honest voice. ‘You are indeed a friend in the time of need. But Monsieur de Courcelles thinks otherwise. He has told me to my face that unless I will divulge the names of the parents of this child, everything between us must be at an end. And so it is at an end. I cannot break my word to the dead. Besides--there are other reasons why I should be true to my trust.’ ‘You will at least tell me one thing, Lizzie. You know to whom this child belongs, do you not? I ask it in your own interests.’ ‘I do.’ ‘Then go to them, my dear, and tell them the dilemma in which the promise you have given on their account has placed you. Ask them to release you from it. Surely no one could be so inhuman as to desire their shame (for I presume shame is at the bottom of this mystery) to spoil the life of an innocent woman? Oh! if I only knew their names myself, I would proclaim them far and wide, until I forced them to release you from this cruel bondage.’ ‘It is _impossible_, Captain Norris!’ ‘Impossible for you to go to them?’ ‘Impossible that my going could do any good in the matter. I cannot rid myself of the blame, without shifting it on the shoulders of another, and that my oath forbids me to do. Pray leave me, Captain Norris. Leave me to bear it as best I may--_alone_! You heard what Mr Courtney has kindly proposed,--that I shall live on here, and continue my dear father’s work. I mean to do so, and if God spares the child, it shall live with me. The coloured people will not despise us. They have too many of such cases amongst themselves, and for the rest, I am strong enough to suffer without sinking under it.’ ‘But not _alone_, dear Lizzie!’ exclaimed Hugh Norris, taking her hand. ‘If your engagement to Monsieur de Courcelles is indeed broken off, let me speak again. You would not listen to me last week on _his_ account; listen to me now on your own. Come to me, and let me fight the battle of life for all three of us--you and me and the child. If it were _really_ your child, Lizzie, I should say the same. When I told you I loved you, I did not mean that I loved some ideal creature raised from my own imagination, but _you_--yourself, with all your faults (if you have faults) and follies (which cannot be greater than my own), and am willing to condone everything, for the privilege of loving you. Let me try to make you forget this sorrow. In England, amidst new scenes and new friends, you may learn to feel differently, even towards me, and look back on San Diego as a bad dream, that has passed away for ever.’ Lizzie pressed his hand gratefully.