“Without entering into argument on the question of the morality of his decision, which is a matter for which he alone was responsible,” said Mr. Levinger, in an irritated voice, “as I have told you, your father decided that it would be best that you should never know his name, or anything about him, except that he was of gentle birth. I believe that it was not cowardice, as you suggest, which made him take this course, but a regard for the rights and feelings of others whom he left behind him.” “And have I no rights and feelings, sir, and did he not leave me behind him?” Joan answered bitterly. “Is it wonderful that I, who have no mother, should wish to know who my father was? and could he not have foreseen that I should wish it? Was it not enough that he should desert me to be brought up in a public-house by a man who drinks, and a rough woman who hates me and would like to see me as bad as herself, with no one even to teach me my prayers when I was little, or to keep me from going to the bad when I grew older? Why should he also refuse to let me know his name, or the kin from which I come? Perhaps I am no judge of such matters, sir; but it seems to me that if ever a man behaved wickedly to a poor girl, my father has done so to me, and, dead or living, I believe that he will have to answer for it one day, since there is justice for us all somewhere.” Suddenly Mr. Levinger wheeled round, and Joan saw that his face was white, as though with fear or anger, and that his quick eyes gleamed. “You wicked girl!” he said in a low voice, “are you not ashamed to call down curses upon your own father, your dead father? Do you not know that your words may be heard—yes, even outside this earth, and perhaps bring endless sorrow on him? If he has wronged you, you should still honour him, for he gave you life.” “Honour him, sir? Honour the man who deserted me and left me in the mud without a name? It isn’t such fathers as this that the Prayer-book tells us to honour. He is dead, you say, and beyond me; and how can my words touch the dead? But even if they can, could they do him more harm, wherever he is, than he has done to me here? Oh! you do not understand. I could forgive him everything, but I can’t forgive that he should make me go through my life without even knowing his name, or who he was. Had he only left me a kind word, or a letter, I dare say that I could even have loved him, though I never saw him. As it is, I think I hate him, and I hope that one day he will know it.” As she said these words, Mr. Levinger slowly turned his back upon her and began to look out of the window again, as though he felt himself unable to face the righteous indignation that shone in her splendid eyes.