When he had seen the lights of the London express disappear, he took his seat in a local train, which was timed to leave shortly after eight o'clock. On arriving at Heathton, he left the station hurriedly, and stole through deserted by-ways to the Moat House. Here he asked for Miss Marlow, and sent in his card, on which he had scribbled, "News of your father." The lie, which was not all a lie, gained him the interview he sought; but before seeing him, Sophy sent off the note to Alan. Then she induced Miss Vicky to retire, and received her visitor alone in the drawing-room. The Captain entered the room with a somewhat cringing air. His nerve was gone, and with it a goodly portion of his courage. Miss Marlow, on the contrary, was quite mistress of herself and of the situation. She had heard from Joe Brill, amongst other things, that this man was not her father, and she now felt no fear of him. He was anxious and ill at ease, like a culprit before a judge. "Good evening, Captain Lestrange," said Sophy, sitting very erect in her chair. "You wish to see me, I believe. Why have you come?" "To make reparation, Miss Marlow." "Oh," she said ironically, "then I am not your daughter?" "I expect you have heard as much from Joe Brill," replied Lestrange, looking at her gloomily. "No, you are not my daughter, but you are my cousin, Marie Lestrange, although you choose to keep your name of Sophia Marlow." "I keep the name of the man who has been a father to me." "In that case, you should call yourself Beauchamp," he retorted. "May I sit down? Thank you. Well, I suppose you are wondering why I have come to see you?" She glanced at the card. "To give me news of my father, I presume," she said. "Do you mean my real father?" "No, I mean the false one. Your real father died long ago. He was murdered by Beauchamp." "He was not!" cried Sophy vehemently, and started from her seat. "I have heard the story from Joe, and I know now why you came here. But nothing will induce me to believe that he killed my father. My mother fled to him from the cruelty of her husband, and you were at the bottom of all the trouble." "Yes," he cried fiercely, "I was! I loved your mother dearly. She gave me up for Achille, and I swore I would be revenged. I sowed dissension between them. It was through me that Zelia fled with Beauchamp. Do you think I am sorry for what happened? I am not. I hated Achille; but he is dead. I hate Beauchamp, for your mother loved him----" "And he also is dead," interrupted Sophy; "you cannot harm him." "Are you so sure he is dead?" sneered Lestrange. "I saw his dead body!" cried the girl, with emotion. "You saw him in a state of insensibility, brought about by Warrender's devilish drugs!" said the Captain sharply. "I don't believe Beauchamp is dead. If he had been, why should his body have been carried off?" "You declared that Mr. Thorold did that, and----"