I pulled myself together, and answered him—
"I am in mourning for my mother, Mr. Benson. I can't say that my father is well, but he is not ill that I know of."
The lawyer was sitting with his head resting upon his elbow, and his eyes fixed upon the photograph.
"Poor Mr. Herbert—poor Mr. Herbert!" he said to himself, in a low tone.
Something, perhaps his sympathetic tone, prompted me to ask him a question.
"Mr. Benson, you knew my father. Do you believe that he was a coward?"
The lawyer looked up at once.
"I do not," he said, firmly. "I never did, and never will."
The words were the sweetest I had ever heard in my life. I jumped up with tears standing in my eyes, and wrung his hand heartily.
"Thank you for those words, Mr. Benson," I exclaimed, warmly. "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear them. But don't call me by the name of Devereux again, please. I won't hear it, I won't even own it."