called a
murderer."

Hubert drew his breath hard. She tried to answer what she thought was
the meaning of that strange sound, half moan, half sigh.

"I never called him so," she said. "You will not believe it, of course;
but I know that my father would never have done the deed that you
attribute to him. He was kind, good, tender-hearted, although he lived
in rebellion against some of the ordinary laws of society. There was
nothing base or mean about him. If he had killed a man, he would not
have told lies about it; he would have said that he had done it and
borne the punishment. He was a brave man; he was not a murderer."

Still Hubert did not answer. He dared not let her see his face; she must
not know the torture her words inflicted on him. She went on.

"Lately I have thought that it would be better for me to face the whole
thing out, and not act as if I were ashamed of my father, who is no
murderer, but a martyr and an innocent man. I took my first step last
night by telling your aunt Miss Vane that 'West' was only an assumed
name. I had never said that before. Do you remember how she looked at
me--how she hated me--when we stood outside the gates of Beechfield Park
that afternoon? The sight of me made her ill; and, if she knew me by my
right name, it would make her ill again. If I had known that you were
their cousin, I would never have let you see my face!"

"Cynthia, have a little mercy!" cried Hubert, suddenly starting up, and
dashing his hair back from his discolored, distorted face. "Do you think
I am such a brute? What does it matter to me about your father? Was I so
unkind, so cruel to you when you were a child that you cannot trust me
now?"

"No," she said, looking at him gently, but with a sort of aloofness
which he had never seen in her before; "you were very good to me then.
You saved me from the workhouse; you would not even let me go to the
charity-school that Mrs. Rumbold recommended. You told me to be a good
girl, and said that some day I should see my father again." She put her
hand to her throat, as if choked by some hysteric symptom, but at once
controlled herself and went on. "I see it all now. It was through you, I
suppose, that I was sent to St. Elizabeth's, where I was made into
something like a civilised being. It was you to whom they applied as to
whether I should be removed from the lower to the upper school; and
you--out of your charity to the murderer's daughter--you paid for me
f