“You don’t know anything about it, sir! You don’t know anything about it! Why, the very last night before my poor boy, Lonny, sailed on that fatal voyage, from which he was destined never to return—on that very last night, I say, in the most earnest, tender, manly way, perfectly wonderful in a mere boy like Lonny, he commended Emolyn Wyndeworth to my care. There were tears in the lad’s eyes, sir, as he spoke of her orphaned and desolate condition, and told me how he had loved her all his life long and hoped some time or other to claim her as his wife. At that time, although he was about to leave me for a long voyage, I could scarcely forbear smiling at the earnestness of the lad in speaking of a prospective wife, and commending the waiting bride-elect to my fatherly care. Of course, I promised to look after the girl, but equally, of course, I forgot my promise—forgot it—ah, yes! until the catastrophe brought it to my mind too late! too late!” All this the old commodore had told the doctor several times before, yet with the fatuity of approaching dotage he told it again. “Forgive me for saying that I think you exaggerate your responsibility in this matter and torture yourself needlessly.” “No, I don’t! No, I don’t! I will prove to you that I don’t by mentioning—that which I never breathed to any human being before—that Emolyn Wyndeworth had been privately married to my son—that her child was his legitimate daughter! There, it is out! Now you know the secret of what you call my morbid self-reproach! It was my poor, shipwrecked and drowned boy who was the lost husband of whom she spoke. It was _our_ name she refused to bring down to dishonor when the false accusation of child-murder had branded her pure name!” “Father in heaven, can this be true?” exclaimed the doctor in much agitation. “I firmly believe it to be as I have said. She was the wife of my son by a private marriage. But when unmerited dishonor fell upon her name she resolved, by her silence, to shield us from any share in it. She died and made no sign.” “Commodore Bruce, for Heaven’s sake, declare to me what reason you have for believing this!” “Every reason that ought to have opened my eyes before the catastrophe came! My son’s solemn charge. Her deep dejection after his departure. The fact that they had been the most intimate friends and playmates from their infancy to youth, so that he had no other girl playmate, she no other boy acquaintance. This should have enlightened us all if we had not been as blind as bats! Then again her declaration that her young husband had belonged to a good family and that he was dead. All this pointed to Leonidas Bruce.