“I cannot say how many years ago it was that you were acquainted with my father,” he said. “I thought that perhaps--no one has ever suggested a likeness between my father and myself, still I thought--well, one often sees transmitted some personal trait--some mannerism that recalls an individuality. That is a scientific truth, is it not, Sir Creighton?” “It is highly scientific,” said Sir Creighton with a laugh. “Yes, on that basis, I admit that--once or twice, perhaps--a recollection seemed to be awakened; but--what is in my mind at this moment, is the imitation of well-known actors to which one is treated in unguarded moments by popular entertainers. I dare say that you have noticed also that it is only when the entertainer has announced the name of the well-known actor whom he imitates that the imitation becomes plausible. Now, although I occasionally boast of being influenced only by scientific methods, still I fancy that if I knew the name of your father I should have less difficulty recalling the man whose personalities--that is some of them--a few--are echoed by you. I knew no one bearing the name Winwood.” “You ask me the question which I was in hopes you could answer, Sir Creighton,” said Winwood. “I had no idea that the name by which my father was known during the forty years or so that he lived in the colony was an assumed one. I never found out what was his real one. To say the truth, it is only recently that my curiosity on this point has been aroused. In a young colony there is a good deal of uncertainty with regard to names.” “I dare say. You told my daughter a curious and an almost incredible story, however, and she repeated it to me,” said Sir Creighton. “You will not tell me that you never heard that story before,” cried the younger man, half rising from his seat. “If you tell me so, I shall feel uncommonly like an impostor.” “Oh, no; I heard all the details of that story long ago,” replied Sir Creighton. “Only, as it was told to me I fail to see what bearing it has upon your identity.” “The man who suffered in the place of his friend was my father, Sir Creighton,” said Winwood. “Now you know the name of the original actor of whose personality I have been giving you imitations--faint imitations, I dare say.” “Yes, now I know; and I admit that I see the original much more clearly,” said Sir Creighton laughing. But his listener was not laughing. He was leaning his head on his hand, his elbow being on the table, and seemed to be lost in thought. There was no elation in his expression at Sir Creighton’s admission. Sir Creighton became equally grave in a moment. “It was the cruellest thing and the most heroic thing ever done in the world,” said he in a low voice. “It was to me your father told the truth about that confession of his, and he did so only on my promising in the most solemn way that I would keep the matter a secret. I often wonder if I was justified in adhering to my promise.”