“Who says so?”
“I say so. You have done your duty—more than your duty—I must do mine. My uncle, on his deathbed, bequeathed his daughter to my charge.”
“To yours?”
“To mine,” said Stephen, gravely.
“Where is your authority?”
“That I do not come without authority is proven by the mere fact of my presence here and by my knowledge of my uncle’s secret. No one but yourself, your wife and I know of the real identity of this girl. It was my uncle’s wish that the story of her birth should still remain a secret—that it should be buried, as it were, in his grave. Why should the poor girl ever learn the truth, when such knowledge can only bring her shame and mortification?”
“Grant that,” said Gideon, “where could she better be hidden than here? Her secret, her very existence, have been concealed from the world.”
“True, but—but the future, my dear sir—the future! You are not a young man——”
“I am still young enough to protect her.”
“My dear Mr. Rolfe, you may live—you look as if you would—to be a hundred; you have discharged your self-imposed task most nobly, but you must not forget that it has now devolved upon one who is bound by ties of blood to fulfill it, if not so well, certainly with the best intentions. Mr. Rolfe, I am the young girl’s cousin.”