‘I cannot understand it,’ she answered.
‘No, and you never will—thank God for it. Your sense of right and wrong is too clear to permit you to be led astray. But this poor child is very different in character from yourself. She is weak, and foolish, and unprincipled, and the scoundrel who has taken advantage of her simplicity, should be strung up at the Fort. It seems a shame that, in order to protect her good name, he should be allowed to go unpunished. But perhaps you cannot understand that also.’
‘Father, you mistake me!’ cried Lizzie. ‘I can love, or I believe I can, as fondly as any woman, and I can well imagine the force of the temptation which circumstances might bring with it. God forbid that I should judge any error that springs from too much love, or consider myself beyond its reach. But I cannot understand the selfishness that makes a woman shrink from the consequences of her sin, as if it had no claim upon her. Where is the father of this child? If I were Quita, I would rather go out into the world with my baby in my arms, and beg from door to door by his side, than run away as she has done, and leave it to the care of strangers.’
‘Hush, hush!’ exclaimed the Doctor quickly, looking round them with a face of fear. ‘Even the walls have ears. Remember your oath, Lizzie, and never mention this subject, coupled with her name, again.’
‘Let me ask you at least, father, if you have seen Mammy Lila.’
‘More than once, Lizzie, and all will be right there, until I have time to decide what is best to be done in the future. But it will be a terrible puzzle, and I must think it over gravely. I am ill and weary at present, and would rather leave things as they are for a month or two.’
‘I, too, feel ill and weary,’ rejoined Lizzie sadly. ‘I have not liked to worry you with my own troubles whilst you were attending on Quita, but now that she is gone, father, I must ask you one question. What am I to do with regard to what you told me on the night that she came here, and you extracted that oath of secrecy from me?’
‘Do! What would you do?’ demanded Dr Fellows, with a white face.
‘I don’t know. The knowledge seems to have laid a burden on me too heavy to be borne. Had I only myself to consider, my task would be, comparatively speaking, easy. I could take care that I suffered alone. But there is Monsieur de Courcelles; I must consider him.’
‘What has De Courcelles to do with it?’