"At Kingston," admitted the girl; "but, for all that, I am not your daughter."
"I agree with Miss Marlow," said Mr. Thorold. "Let us hear your story. That it will convince me I do not promise."
"Ah!" cried the foreigner, with an ironical smile. "None so blind as those who won't see. What a pity that Marlow and Warrender are both dead!"
"Oh, you know that?"
"As I had the honor of telling Miss Marlow"--Lestrange put so sneering an accent on the name that Alan felt inclined to kick him--"I know that. I landed in England from Jamaica only two days ago. But, as you know, every one is talking of the mystery, and by this time I know the case as well as you do."
Alan winced, and Sophy glanced at him apprehensively. Would her champion fail her? Would this man prove his claim? She was in deadly terror lest he should. But Alan had no intention of yielding.
"Go on," he said again. "Miss Marlow and I will hear your story."
"Very good. I am glad to see that you have the British instinct of fair play. I will be as brief as possible, and you can ask me any questions you wish. My name is Achille Lestrange, the man who is mentioned in that certificate. I am--or, rather, I was--a Captain in the Peruvian Army. I retired after the war between that country and Chili. However, I have ample means to live on, and I retain my military rank, out of sheer vanity, if you will."
"All this," said Alan, "is beside the point."
"It is necessary to explain my position. More than twenty years ago I was married at Kingston to Zelia Durand. We had one child--a little girl--the same who now sits beside you."