‘So he told me, sir; and also of the crime he committed against you, and of the generosity with which you forgave it. I feel (and I told him so) that after that, my life and all I hold dearest in the world should be at your disposal; and I will sink my personality in the future, as I have done in the past, if you wish me to do so.’
‘No, no! my dear girl, I don’t consider I have any right to dictate to you on the subject; and since you desire to know your name, I will tell it you. You are Elizabeth Ruthin, the granddaughter of General Sir William and Lady Ruthin of Aberdare in Scotland. Your dear father’s name was Herbert Ruthin. He was the second son, the eldest, I believe, is in the army. He has already told you (you say) of the sad event which brought us together. He was my dearest friend in youth, and to the day of his death; but he was extravagant and thoughtless, and hardly thought of the gravity of the act he was committing.’
‘That is your kind way of putting it,’ said Lizzie. ‘My father did not exonerate himself after that fashion, sir. He saw his fault in its true light. But my mother’s name—what was that?’
‘Alice Stevens. She was the daughter of a clergyman, and a very sweet woman, I believe; but she died so early, that I saw but little of her. Have you any more questions to ask me, Lizzie?’
‘Only, have you any papers to prove what you tell me, Mr Courtney?’
‘What a practical young woman you are. Yes, I have. I loved your dear father with almost a romantic attachment, and I have kept all the letters that passed between us as young men, that is, when he was practically living at home on Sir William Ruthin’s estate of Aberdare, but going backward and forward to pursue his studies at Edinburgh. His frequent mention of his home life, and every one connected with it, is sufficient proof of his identity.’
‘And may I have those letters, sir?’
‘Certainly, if you wish it; and, now I come to think of it, they should be in your possession, in case of anything happening unexpectedly to me.’
Mr Courtney rose as he spoke, and unlocking an iron safe, placed a packet of letters, endorsed ‘Correspondence with my friend H. Ruthin,’ in her hand.
‘And now, Lizzie, what will you do with them?’ he added. ‘Shall you go post-haste to England by the next steamer, and lay claim to your father’s property?’