"It is necessary to explain my position. More than twenty years ago I was married at Kingston to Zelia Durand. We had one child--a little girl--the same who now sits beside you." "I won't hear of it!" cried Sophy angrily. "We shall see," he went on cheerfully. "You may change your mind when I have got to the end of my story. I regret to say that Mrs. Lestrange--I do not call her Madame," explained the Captain, "because I am truly English in speech and manner--well, Mrs. Lestrange had a bad temper. We did not get on well together. And, besides, I was jealous"--his eyes flashed fire--"yes, I was jealous of Herbert Beauchamp." "Herbert Beauchamp!" Alan thought of Marlow's will and of the legacy. How did this man come to know the name? CHAPTER XIII. A STRANGE STORY--_continued_ Captain Lestrange recovered from his momentary emotion, and raised his eyebrows at Alan's involuntary exclamation. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Thorold." "Nothing," said the other hastily. "I fancied the name was familiar." "Ah! You may have heard Marlow mention it." "No. He never spoke of his past life." "He had good reason to be reticent, as you shall hear." But here Sophy burst out: "Be good enough to continue your story without vilifying my father." "Your father!" sneered the Captain. "The story--the story!" cried Alan. "I continue," said Lestrange, with a nod. "As I say, I was jealous of Beauchamp, for before our marriage he had been an admirer of my Zelia's. And, as a matter of fact, she was a singularly attractive woman. You might guess as much," added he blandly, "seeing that her grace and beauty are reproduced in her daughter. But to continue: Zelia had many admirers, three of whom she distinguished above the others--myself, Herbert Beauchamp, and my cousin, Jean Lestrange. I was the lucky man who won her. Jean ceased to pay any attention to her after the marriage, but Beauchamp was persistent. I remonstrated with him--we nearly had a duel--but to no purpose; and I am sorry to say that Zelia encouraged him." "Proceed with your story, and leave my mother alone," cried Sophy. Alan started, for he remembered with a pang that Sophy had told him her mother's name was Zelia; but he kept silent, and a terrible dread came over him that this man would prove his statements after all. Meanwhile the narrator went on pleasantly. "Beauchamp," he said, fingering his mustache, "was a sugar-planter--at least, he was supposed to be one. He had a plantation some miles from the town of Falmouth, which is on the other side of Jamaica. It was there that Dr. Warrender practised. He was a bachelor in those days, and he was considered rather a wild fellow. Probably for that reason he was a bosom friend of Beauchamp's." "Do you mean to infer that Beauchamp was wild?"