"The death of your other daughter."
Captain Dicksfall started up with a groan, and stared wildly at Dowker.
"Good God! Is Helena dead?"
"Who is Helena?" asked Dowker, stolidly.
"My daughter--my daughter."
"I thought you said you'd only one, sir."
The sick man turned away his face.
"I had two," he said in a low tone, "but one, the eldest, ran away with some scamp, called Carrill. Since then I have heard nothing of her, so I always say I have only one."
Dowker thought for a few moments. It was a very delicate position to occupy, and, feeling it to be so, for a moment he was doubtful as to how to proceed.
"Captain Dicksfall," he said at length, "I know I am only a common man and you are a gentleman; it is not for such as me to speak to you about your private affairs, but this is a matter of life or death to a human being, and, if you hear my story, I am sure you will not refuse to help me by telling me what I want to know."