"Murder! Condemned to die!" gasped Eleanor.
"The charge was a false one, dearest--don't forget that. But before the day came that would have left you fatherless, his mind gave way under the shock, and his sentence was commuted into one of imprisonment for life. Your mother, frail of health and delicate from a child, found the burden of life more than she could bear, and Heaven, in its pity, took her to itself."
Gerald paused, and as he did so he felt that Eleanor was sobbing silently, with her head still resting on his shoulder.
"Then it was, when you were left alone in the world, that Mr. Lloyd and his wife took you to their hearts and home. They had no children of their own, and they adopted you as their daughter, even to giving you their name--for, as you must remember, your fathers innocence had never been proved. The evidence at the trial had been terribly against him, and the world still adjudged him to be guilty.
"Shortly after their adoption of you, Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd removed to Pembridge, where they were entire strangers, and, except Miss Bellamy, no one ever knew that you were not their own child.
"And so years went on till Mrs. Lloyd died. It was shortly after this event that Mr. Lloyd, mindful, probably, of the uncertainty of life, put into Miss Bellamy's hands the very sealed packet about which we have heard so much of late. In case Miss Bellamy should survive him, it was to be given over by her into the hands of Mr. Kelvin, who had had the management of Mr. Lloyd's affairs for years. Mr. Lloyd himself doubtless shrank from telling you the real facts of your history; but as your father was still living, it was imperatively necessary that you should be made aware of them whenever he--Mr. Lloyd--should die. To Mr. Kelvin was delegated the task of breaking the news to you. In what way he has fulfilled that task we have now seen.
"All these long years Mr. Murray had been shut up in his living tomb. In the course of time his senses had mercifully been given back to him. Two or three times a year Miss Bellamy went to see him, and took him tidings of you and of the outside world. He knew that you were safe and well, and he would not let your young life be blighted by the sad story of his wrongs and sufferings."
"Oh, if some kind friend but told me!" exclaimed Eleanor. "It was cruel, cruel to keep me in ignorance of what it was my simple right to be told! It was my place, not Miss Bellamy's, to go to see him and comfort him."
"It was at Mr. Murray's own frequently-expressed desire that you were left in ignorance."
"All those years--all those summers and winters while I was growing up a happy, careless girl, he--my father--was shut up between the terrible walls of a prison. I--I cannot bear to think of it!"