“Well, now,” leaning forward and resting his head on his hand, and speaking more deliberately, “I am going to tell you something that I am certain will surprise, and I fear will incense you; but you will hear me out to the end. We have been married for more than three years!” He paused--not unnaturally nervous--awaiting the result of this tardy announcement. “Why! what--what--what the devil do you mean?” stammered Mr. West, his little eyes nearly starting from their sockets. “What do you mean, sir? I--I don’t believe you, so there!--don’t believe a word of it!” breathing hard. “If you will only listen to me patiently, you _will_ believe me. I am going to tell you many things that you ought to have been made acquainted with long ago.” Mr. West opened his mouth. No sound came. He was speechless. And his son-in-law proceeded very steadily. “Four years ago you were said to be bankrupt, if not dead. Mrs. Harper gave you no law when your bills were not paid. You have never heard that Madeline, from being the show-pupil and favourite, sank to be the shabby school drudge--half-fed, half-clothed, and not paid for the work of two governesses. This went on for a whole year. I saw her at a breaking-up affair, when she played all night for her schoolfellows to dance. I fell in love with her then. Miss Selina hated us both, and, to satisfy her hate and malice, managed--one night in the holidays--to leave us both behind at Riverside, late for the last train. We had all been to the theatre. The affair was planned. We waited where we were desired to wait, and lost the train. Next morning I called to explain to Miss Harper; but Madeline’s character was gone--she was turned out, dismissed without mercy. She had no friends, no salary, no reference. I had, at least, bread-and-cheese--so I took her to London and married her.” He stopped and looked at Mr. West, who was livid, and who cried out in a loud, strange voice-- “Go on, sir--go on--and get it over, before I go mad!” “I was poor. We lived in lodgings; but we were very happy. After a time poverty and sickness knocked at our door. I had typhoid fever. It was an unhealthy season, and I nearly died. I have sometimes since thought that it would have been well if I _had_ died, and thus cut the Gordian knot, and released Madeline. However, I hung on, a miserable, expensive, useless invalid. In the middle of all this a child was born.” Mr. West started out of his chair; but subsequently resumed it. “It was a boy----” “A boy! Where is it?” demanded his listener, fiercely. “You shall hear presently,” said his son-in-law, gravely. “Madeline was the kindest of wives, nurses, mothers.” “Madeline--_my_ Madeline?” said her father, in a tone of querulous incredulity and shrill irritation.