Gordon filled his pipe and lit it, then he began to speak in an odd,
monotonous voice, as though he were reciting.

"That man's name was James Mendon. He was an Englishman. When I first
began practice it was in the West. That man had a ranch near the little
town where I lived with my sister Alice. Alice was a beautiful girl. We
had lost our parents, and she kept house for me. The man was as handsome
as a devil, and he had the devil's own way with women. God only knows
what a good girl like my sister saw in him. He had a bad name, even out
in that rough country. Horrible tales were circulated about his cruelty
to animals for one thing. His cowboys deserted him and told stories.
His very dog turned on him, and bit him. God knows how he was torturing
the animal. I saw the scar on his hand when he lay on his death-bed.
Well, however it was, my sister loved him and married him, and he
treated her like a fiend. She died, and it was a merciful release. He
deserted her three months before her death. Sold out all he had, and
left her without a cent. She came back to me, and three months later
Clemency was born."

Gordon paused and looked at James. "Yes," he said, "that man was
Clemency's father."

He waited, but only for a second. The young man spoke, and his clear
young voice rang out like a trumpet. "I never loved Clemency as I love
her now," he said.

CHAPTER XI

Gordon smiled at James. "God bless you, boy!" he said.

"What possible difference do you think that could make?" demanded James
hotly. "Could that poor little girl help it?"

"Of course she could not, but some men might object, and with reason, to
marrying a girl who came of such stock on her father's side."

"I am not one of those men."

"No, I don't think you are, but it is only my duty to put the case
plainly before you. That man who was buried this afternoon was simply
unspeakable. He was a monstrosity of perverted morality. I cannot even
bring myself to tell you what I know of him. I cannot even bring myself
to give you the least hint of what my poor young sister, Clemency's
mother, suffered in her brief life with him. You may fear heredity--"

"Heredity, nothing! Don't I know Clemency?"

"I myself really think that you have nothing whatever to fear. Clemency
is her mother's living and breathing image as far as looks go, and as
far as I can judge in the innermost workings of her mind. I have not
seen in her the slightest taint from her evil