“We had no money--none. I had kept aloof from many acquaintances since I married, and my relations dropped me with one consent. We pawned all we had, save the clothes on our backs. We were almost starving. In those days Madeline was a model of courage, cheerfulness, endurance, and devotion. When I recall those days, I can forgive her much.” “Forgive her! Madeline pawning clothes! Madeline starving!” cried her father, so loudly that a sleepy cabin-steward looked in. Mr. Wynne signed to him to go away, and continued, “Ay, she was. We could barely keep the wolf out. Then came your letter to the Harpers, and they advertised for Madeline. She saw the message, and pawned her wedding-ring to go to them. And they, never dreaming that she was married, received her with rapture as Miss West. She had no tell-tale ring, and Mrs. Harper heard that she had been in a shop in London, in the mantle department. In an evil moment Madeline saw your letter wherein you spoke very strongly against a poor love affair, and possible marriage. So, in desperation, and to get money and bread for her child and for me, she deceived you. Later on, when the influence of wealth and power and luxury ate their way into her soul, she still deceived you--and forgot us. I must speak the truth.” Mr. West nodded. “She put off the dreaded day of telling you all, and I was out of patience. She would not allow me to break the news. You remember one evening that I called in Belgrave Square, and we went to look at a picture together? It was then that I made my last appeal.” “She gave you up, then?” he asked abruptly. “She did.” “And the child?” eagerly. “My grandson, my heir!” “You remember the great ball you gave last June?” “Of course--of course,” irritably. “It will not be forgotten in a hurry.” “He died that night,” said Mr. Wynne, slowly. “Eh! what did you say? Nonsense!” “He died of diphtheria. Madeline came too late to see him alive. It was from the child she caught the infection. Yes, I believe she kissed him. He was a lovely boy--with such a bright little face and fair hair. We kept him at a Hampshire farmhouse. Many a time I told Madeline that the very sight of him would soften you towards us; but she would not listen. She made promises and broke them. She feared you too much.” “Feared _me_!” “Since his death, I have had nothing to say to her; but I heard that she was very ill in London; and I used to find how she was going on from various people, including yourself, as you may remember. I thought my heart was steeled against her, but I find it is not. I am ready to make friends. I heard accidentally that she was in a most critical state--that day I saw you at the club--and I threw up all my briefs and business and took a passage.” “And so _she_ is your business in Sydney?” “She--she is most woefully changed. When I first saw her under the lamp, I--I--I--cannot tell you----” He paused, and drew in a long, slow breath, which said much.