"I had a wayward sister who forgot her mother, me, her womanhood, and herself, and yet at whose door no suspicion of fault has been laid. I stepped in and took the brunt and still do. I did this for my father's name and for my promise to him and for my love of her. To her child I have given my life. To him I am his mother and will always be—always, because I will stand by my fault. That is a redemption in itself, and that is the only thing that saves me from remorse. You and I, outside of his father and mother, are the only ones living that know of his parentage. The world has long since forgotten the little they suspected. Let it rest; no good could come—only suffering and misery. To stir it now would only open old wounds and, worst of all, it would make a new one."
"In you?"
"No, worse than that. My heart is already scarred all over; no fresh wound would hurt."
"In the doctor?"
"Yes and no. He has never asked the truth and I have never told him."
"Who, then?"
"In little Ellen. Let us keep that one flower untouched."
The captain rested his head in his hand, and for some minutes made no answer. Ellen was the apple of his eye.
"But if Bart insists?"
"He won't insist when he sees Lucy. She is no more the woman that he loved and wronged than I am. He would not know her if he met her outside this house."