‘I don’t know that I have thought it strange, father, for you might have had a thousand reasons for settling in this beautiful island, but I have felt for a long time past that you have some secret trouble, to make you shun the curiosity or the publicity of the world.’
‘You are right, Liz, and you are old enough now to share that sorrow—or rather that shame.’
‘Oh! no, no, father, don’t say that!’ cried Lizzie, as her work dropped into her lap. ‘Whatever it may be, it is not shame.’
‘My dear, I cannot conceal the fact any longer, for without it you will never understand what I am about to tell you. The very name we bear, Liz, is not our own. I was compelled to adopt the name of Fellows, in order to escape—’
‘What? In Heaven’s name, WHAT?’ she exclaimed, clutching at his sleeve.
‘Transportation,’ replied Dr Fellows, in a low, strained voice.
She was about to scream out, to protest her horror of the disgrace attached to them,—her indignation that he should have brought it on their heads,—but a glance at her father’s pale, pained face restrained her. In a moment she realised the awful effort it must have been for him to confess his guilt before his daughter, and womanly compassion took the place of her first resentment.
‘My poor father,’ she said, in a low voice, as she took his hands in hers. ‘My poor father! Surely it was not deserved. There must have been some mistake.’
‘No, Lizzie, there was no mistake. Since I have told you so far, you must hear all! I am a forger.’
She hid her face in her hands then, for she did not care to look at him, lest he should read the contempt she felt her features must express.