“Yes, I understand,” replied the young man, his admiring gaze fixed upon Theresa’s sweet face.
“My child,” observed Hamilton, turning to her, “you had better leave us.” Then, as she began to move away, he added: “But, no. It is just as well that you hear. Sit beside me, Theresa.”
The girl obeyed him, and he went on addressing Sir Harold.
“I wish you to understand your position, sir. Are you not aware that you are a wealthy man, a famous man, whose unaccountable disappearance is the talk of all England?”
“I am not aware of this,” smiled Sir Harold. “It may appear to be a terrible thing to you, but I am like a man who has just dropped into a half-familiar world from some mystery that he cannot fathom. My faculties are clear and my health and strength unimpaired. I do not know why I am famous, and I have no use for wealth. But tell me all of myself that you know. At present I am more amused than alarmed by whatever misfortune may have befallen me.”
Theresa was watching him, pity and love smoldering in her soft, dark eyes.
“A few weeks since,” Hamilton went on, “I had never seen or even heard of you. For five years I have lived in this cottage, a recluse who hates and fears the world beyond. I see surprise in your face, and I will explain. By profession I am a doctor, but it is long since I practiced the healing art until you crossed my path, and Theresa and I have lived upon the scanty earnings of my pen. When this has failed me, and we have been pressed for money, it has been comparatively easy to make up our deficiencies by playing and singing before the houses of the wealthy. In this way we came to Annesley Park. Do you remember?”
“No, sir; I do not.”
There was not the faintest hesitation in Sir Harold’s tones.
“Well, my daughter’s singing attracted your attention,” went on John Hamilton, “and you were free with your money. You appeared to be in great trouble, and I pitied you from the bottom of my heart, though I resented your offer of further money a little later.”