‘Let us talk of the baby—of little Mary,’ he said impatiently. ‘When shall we have her christened?’
‘Any day, if you will be her godfather, and share the responsibility of her with me.’
‘Willingly. As she is to bear my mother’s name, I consider it incumbent on me to do so. But, Lizzie, have you taken my advice about this child? Have you appealed to her parents to lift the burden they have laid upon you, by at least a partial confession of their error?’
‘I have,’ she answered, in a low voice.
‘And they refused?’
‘I only saw the mother, and she denied all knowledge of her child. The—the—other parent I could not speak to.’
‘You know the names of both of them then.’
She bowed her head in silence.
‘Lizzie, I think I have guessed your secret, or at least part of it. The father of this infant is Henri de Courcelles.’
‘What should make you say that, Captain Norris?’ she exclaimed, in a tone of alarm.