"Yes," sighed Shirley, "it is hard to believe that you are the son of that man!"
"How is your father?" inquired Jefferson. "How does he take it?"
"Oh, his heart beats and he can see and hear and speak," replied Shirley sadly, "but he is only a shadow of what he once was. If the trial goes against him, I don't think he'll survive it."
"It is monstrous," cried Jefferson. "To think that my father should be responsible for this thing!"
"We are still hoping for the best," added Shirley, "but the outlook is dark."
"But what are you going to do?" he asked. "These surroundings are not for you—" He looked around at the cheap furnishings which he could see through the open window and his face showed real concern.
"I shall teach or write, or go out as governess," replied Shirley with a tinge of bitterness. Then smiling sadly she added: "Poverty is easy; it is unmerited disgrace which is hard."
The young man drew his chair closer and took hold of the hand that lay in her lap. She made no resistance.
"Shirley," he said, "do you remember that talk we had on the ship? I asked you to be my wife. You led me to believe that you were not indifferent to me. I ask you again to marry me. Give me the right to take care of you and yours. I am the son of the world's richest man, but I don't want his money. I have earned a competence of my own—enough to live on comfortably. We will go away where you and your father and mother will make their home with us. Do not let the sins of the fathers embitter the lives of the children."
"Mine has not sinned," said Shirley bitterly.