"Theory? Oh, no! The public and myself have always regarded him simply as a fact. His treatment by John Morgan was one of the few glimpses we got of the old man's rough, kind nature. But his own silence seemed to beg silence, and no one within my knowledge ever spoke with him upon the subject. It would have been very difficult," he added, with a smile, "for he was the most unapproachable man, in certain respects, that I ever met." "You knew him well? May I ask if ever within your knowledge there was any romance or tragedy in his earlier life?" "I do not know nor have I ever heard of any tragedy in the life of your relative," said the lawyer, slowly; and then, after a pause: "It is known to men of my age, at least remembered by some, that late in life, or when about forty years old, he conceived a violent attachment for the daughter of a planter in this county and was, it is said, at one time engaged to her. The match was sort of family arrangement and the girl very young. She was finishing her education at the north and was to have been married upon her return; but she never returned. She ran away to Europe with one of her teachers. The war came on and with it the blockade. No one has ever heard of her since. Her disappearance, her existence, were soon forgotten. I remember her because I, then a young lawyer, had been called occasionally to her father's house, where I met and was greatly impressed by her. But I am probably one of the few who have carried in mind her features. She was a beautiful and lovable young woman, but, without a mother's training she had grown up self-willed and the result was as I have told you." Edward had risen and was walking the floor. He paused before the speaker. "Judge Eldridge," he said, his voice a little unsteady, "I am going to ask you a question, which I trust you will be free to answer--will answer, and then forget." An expression of uneasiness dwelt on the lawyer's face, but he answered: "Ask it; if I am free to answer, and can, I will." "I will ask it straight," said Edward, resolutely: "Have you ever suspected that Gerald Morgan is the son of the young woman who went away?" Eldridge's reply was simply a grave bow. He did not look up. "You do not know that to be a fact?" "I do not." "What, then, is my duty?" "To follow the directions left by your relative," said Eldridge, promptly. Edward reflected a few moments over the lawyer's answer. "I agree with you, but time may bring changes. May I ask what is your theory of this strange situation--as regards my ward?" He could not bring himself to betray the fact of his own mystery.