"No. I haven't the least idea. I have often thought about it, but father never told me."
"Well, I declare!" and Tom scratched his head in perplexity. "But what is his other name besides Martin?"
"It's Rutland," Nance replied, "and he lived, so he told me, somewhere back in Eastern Canada before he came here. That is all I know."
Tom sat for some time lost in deep thought, while Nance went back to her work. "Martin Rutland," he mused; "where have I heard that name before?" Presently he came straight to his feet, while an exclamation escaped his lips.
"Pardon me, Miss," he explained to Nance, who had looked around in surprise. "It is nothing. I take strange kinks sometimes, which make me yelp. I'll jist stroll outside a bit an' work it off."
Once in the open he paced up and down before the door. There came to him now through the mist of twenty years the vision of an open grave, where his Nell was lying, and a young clergyman was reading the Burial Service. The man had come from a neighbouring parish, as his own rector was ill. Tom had heard his name then, and remembered it because of later events. Yes, the man's name was Martin Rutland. He had read how he had been deposed by his bishop for a serious offence. The newspapers had made much of the trouble at the time. Could it be possible that this was the same man?
Tom paused in his rapid walk, and looked out over the lake, although he saw neither the shimmering water nor the dark trees in the background. He beheld again the look upon Martin's face the previous evening when he learned that Dick Russell was a clergyman as well as a medical man. He recalled how he had abruptly left the building, returning later, silent and gloomy. Then, why had Martin left so early this morning, and after the reference to Nance leaving him, why had he taken himself off again as if anxious to be alone? Tom thought, too, of the books in the cabin, not of an ordinary reader, but of a scholar and a thinker. Yes, so he concluded, this must be that same outcast person who had hidden himself away in the wilderness all of these years.
There then came into his mind the thought of the beautiful young woman in the house. It was quite evident that she knew nothing about the past life of the man she had been in the habit of calling "father." What a terrible blow it would be to her if she ever heard the truth. Anyway, she should not hear it from him, Tom made up his mind to that. There was the slight chance, of course, that there might be some mistake, and that it was only a coincidence of names. He determined, nevertheless, to keep his eyes and ears open and try to find out what he could.
"If it's true," he mused, "I must stand by the lassie. There'll be many only too glad of an opportunity of casting the story at her and causing her trouble. No, not a soul shall ever hear of it from my lips."