"It's her mother's voice," murmured the man, raising his hand to his eyes, as if to shut out the sight of the young girl's face, and to abstract himself from everything but the sound, "and it's her mother's trust in me! Cynthia, my dear, what do you know o' your father to make you so ready to stand by him?" There was a great and an unaccustomed tenderness in his tone. "I'm a common man, and I've spent years of my life in gaol, and I was a tramp and a poacher--I won't deny it--in the olden days; and before that--well, before that, I was a gamekeeper on a big estate--turned away in disgrace, my dear, because my master's daughter fell in love with me. You never heard that before, did you?--though any one would guess that you didn't come of a common stock! Wetheral was her name--Cynthia Wetheral of Bingley Park, in Gloucestershire. There are relatives of hers living there still; but they don't acknowledge us--they won't have anything to do with you, Cynthia, my girl. I married her and took her away wi' me; and for twelve blessed months we were as happy as the day was long; and then she died." He paused a little, and caressed Cynthia's head with his hand. "You're like her, my dear. But I'm only a low common sort o' man that sunk lower and lower since the day she died; and you've no call to trust me unless you feel inclined--no call in the very least. If you say you don't quite believe my word, my pretty, I'll not cut up rough--I'll just go away quiet, and never trouble you any more." "Father," said Cynthia, "listen to me one moment. We were separated when I was only eleven years old; but don't you think that in eleven years I could learn something of your real disposition--your true nature? I remember how you used to care for me, how tender and kind you were to me, although you might perhaps seem gloomy and morose to all the world beside. I remember your bringing home a dog with a broken leg, and nursing it till it was cured. You had pets of all kinds--birds, beasts, flowers. You never did a cruel thing in your life; and how could I think then, that you would lie in wait to kill a man out of mere spite and revenge--a man, too, with a wife and a child--a little girl like me? I knew you better, father, all the time!" Westwood shook his head doubtfully.