"Name? My God! How can I give that which I never had?"
Then turning almost savagely to the wondering witnesses, he said bitterly, "Coward and cur I may be, but that is my only legacy,—my only inheritance from the parents who brought me into a world of sin and left me, nameless and alone,—an outcast upon society and a leper among those who boast their proud morality."
Then as his gaze rested once more upon his grief stricken wife, he lowered his tones to almost gentleness as he added: "I saved your honor by a legal marriage, but shame for the one honorable act of my life made me deny it:—
"I tried to kill you," he continued recklessly, but Elizabeth, realizing the awful consequences of the dreadful admission, sprang forward, crying sharply, "No! No! Lawrie,—not that! Do not say that!" but he thrust her wildly aside and went on as if no interruption had occurred:
"That was the second honorable impulse of my life. I knew the misery and shame of your surroundings was worse than death and as I had no name to offer you I tried to end your wretchedness"—
Before he could say more the hand of the law was upon him, and a stern but kindly intentioned voice, said briefly, "Hush, man,—you are closing the door of a prison cell upon yourself by your talking; come, answer me and be brief,—are you or are you not Maurice Sinclair?"
"I am not," was the husky answer.
"Are you or are you not, Lawrence Maynard?"
At this question Elizabeth leaned heavily forward on Mrs. Sinclair's arm, straining every nerve in her eagerness to catch his answer.