"I was had up for trial; I stood in the prisoner's dock. I was convicted by jurymen, and a judge of our criminal courts proclaimed my sentence. The case was a particularly aggravated one, and my sentence was severe--I was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude--I lived all that time in prison. Not a pleasant life. Ah! it's spoiled my hands a good bit--have you never remarked it?" "Now that you speak, I--do remark it," I said. "And of course I was cashiered," he continued. I nodded. "Well, I have answered you." "You have," I said. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?" "Yes. Why did you marry Lady Helen?" "Why, that was part of the bond." "The bond?" I said. "The fact is, we understood each other. She had been very fond of me, poor woman, and she stuck to me through my disgrace, and when I came out of prison she was willing to do the best possible for me and for you. Of course, you can understand that without marriage I could not accept her services, so--I married her. I don't go about with her a great deal, you will have observed that?" "Yes, and I have wondered," I said. "But she has been good to you. She has taken you about." "Oh, yes. I hated going about with her." "She was anxious, and so was I, that you should marry well. She held out to me as the bait--your salvation." "What do you mean?" "Exactly what I say. When I entered into that worst prison of all, it was for your sake." "Father--oh, father!" "It is true, child. There, it's out. It is the worst prison of all--God help me! And now, at the end, you desert me!" "No, I won't," I said, flinging my arms round his neck; "no, I never will! It doesn't matter what you did, I'll stick to you--I will, I will, I will!" "My little girl, my own little girl! But she won't have you back except on her own terms; she only wants you in order to get you well married, to have the éclat and fuss and glory of a great marriage; that's her object. You have refused Hawtrey; I doubt if she'll forgive that." I was clinging close to him, I was holding his hand. "Can't we both leave her?" I whispered. "Can't we go away and be very poor together, and forget the world?" "Child, there is your lover, Carbury." I gave a quick, sharp sigh. "I can't think of him now," I said. "Oh, child, he proposed for you, knowing everything." "I won't marry him," I said, "I am going to stay with you in that worst prison." CHAPTER XVIII My father kept on holding my hand. We neither of us spoke; there are moments when words fail us, and these happened to be some. The sun crept higher and higher in the heavens, it beat down on us, but it was tempered by the pleasant, cool sea breezes. We were both looking into the future, and, truth to tell, our hearts were sad. I was making up my mind, and father was making up his mind. At last I, being the younger and more impulsive, spoke: