“And now where does the trouble come in?” asked the miller when he had read the letter.
“I cannot marry him,” said Miss Chester.
“Do you want to marry him?” asked Father Abram.
“Oh, I love him,” she answered, “but—” Down went her head and she sobbed again.
“Come, Miss Rose,” said the miller; “you can give me your confidence. I do not question you, but I think you can trust me.”
“I do trust you,” said the girl. “I will tell you why I must refuse Ralph. I am nobody; I haven’t even a name; the name I call myself is a lie. Ralph is a noble man. I love him with all my heart, but I can never be his.”
“What talk is this?” said Father Abram. “You said that you remember your parents. Why do you say you have no name? I do not understand.”
“I do remember them,” said Miss Chester. “I remember them too well. My first recollections are of our life somewhere in the far South. We moved many times to different towns and states. I have picked cotton, and worked in factories, and have often gone without enough food and clothes. My mother was sometimes good to me; my father was always cruel, and beat me. I think they were both idle and unsettled.
“One night when we were living in a little town on a river near Atlanta they had a great quarrel. It was while they were abusing and taunting each other that I learned—oh, Father Abram, I learned that I didn’t even have the right to be—don’t you understand? I had no right even to a name; I was nobody.
“I ran away that night. I walked to Atlanta and found work. I gave myself the name of Rose Chester, and have earned my own living ever since. Now you know why I cannot marry Ralph—and, oh, I can never tell him why.”