Captain Lestrange recovered from his momentary emotion, and raised his eyebrows at Alan's involuntary exclamation.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Thorold."

"Nothing," said the other hastily. "I fancied the name was familiar."

"Ah! You may have heard Marlow mention it."

"No. He never spoke of his past life."

"He had good reason to be reticent, as you shall hear."

But here Sophy burst out: "Be good enough to continue your story without vilifying my father."

"Your father!" sneered the Captain.

"The story--the story!" cried Alan.

"I continue," said Lestrange, with a nod. "As I say, I was jealous of Beauchamp, for before our marriage he had been an admirer of my Zelia's. And, as a matter of fact, she was a singularly attractive woman. You might guess as much," added he blandly, "seeing that her grace and beauty are reproduced in her daughter. But to continue: Zelia had many admirers, three of whom she distinguished above the others--myself, Herbert Beauchamp, and my cousin, Jean Lestrange. I was the lucky man who won her. Jean ceased to pay any attention to her after the marriage, but Beauchamp was persistent. I remonstrated with him--we nearly had a duel--but to no purpose; and I am sorry to say that Zelia encouraged him."

"Proceed with your story, and leave my mother alone," cried Sophy.

Alan started, for he remembered with a pang that Sophy had told him her mother's name was Zelia; but he kept silent, and a terrible dread came over him that this man would prove his statements after all.

Meanwhile the narrator went on pleasantly.

"Beauchamp," he said, fingering his mustache, "was a sugar-planter--at least, he was supposed to be one. He had a plantation some miles from the town of Falmouth, which is on the other side of Jamaica. It was there that Dr. Warrender practised. He was a bachelor in those days, and he was considered rather a wild fellow. Probably for that reason he was a bosom friend of Beauchamp's."

"Do you mean to infer that Beauchamp was wild?"

"Well, not exactly. I must be honest. He was adventuresome rather than wild. He was fond of yachting, and had a smart sailing boat in which he used to cruise amongst the islands. Warrender frequently went with him. Beauchamp was a very handsome man, and extremely popular with women. I know that to my cost," he added bitterly, "when he set his affections on Zelia. She was my wife--she was the mother of my child--yet she eloped with him."

"I--I--don't believe it," said Sophy in a suffocating voice.

"If it were not true, my child, you would not be sitting there under the false name of Sophia Marlow."

"One moment," put in Alan, clasping the girl's hand, "you have yet to prove that Miss Marlow is Marie Lestrange."

"If you would not interrupt so often, I could do so," said the man insolently. "As I say, Zelia ran away with Beauchamp. He brought his yacht to Kingston when I was absent, and sailed off with her. She carried with her my child--my adorable Marie." Here Lestrange fixed an affectionate look on Sophy. "I returned to find my home dishonored," he went on, "my life wrecked. Jean came to console me. He also had heard of Beauchamp's treachery, and that the boat had sailed for Falmouth. We followed----"

Here Lestrange broke down. Whether his emotion was genuine or not, Alan could not say. He looked at Sophy, and she at him. Having fought down his emotion, the Captain resumed his seat and his story:

"Jean and I arrived at Falmouth. There we heard that Zelia was very ill, and that Beauchamp had taken her to his plantation. Dr. Warrender, our informant said, was in attendance. The whole town knew that she was my wife, that she had dishonored me, and that I was on my may to settle accounts with the man who had wrecked my happiness. My cousin and I rode out to Beauchamp's plantation, for it was within a few miles of Falmouth, as I said. The night was dark and stormy--we arrived in pouring rain, and by the wailing of the negroes we knew that death was in the house. Yes"--he grew dramatic--"Zelia was dead; torture, remorse, sorrow, had brought about her punishment!"

"You are very ready to condemn her," said Alan.

"She had dishonored me!" cried the man, waxing melodramatic. "It was well that she should die. I rushed away to her room, where she lay calm in death, and Jean remained to arrange matters with Beauchamp. I challenged him to a duel. Jean was my second. But Beauchamp refused to fight, and--he murdered Jean."

"Murdered your cousin?" queried Alan skeptically.

"Yes. I was praying beside my wife's bed. I heard cries for help, and when I came out I found Jean dead, stabbed to the heart by Beauchamp. The scoundrel had fled--he had taken my child with him."

"Why should he have encumbered himself with the child?"

"To wring my heart!" replied Lestrange savagely. "He knew that I loved my little Marie. He carried her away. I would have followed, but all my troubles and the shock of Zelia's death brought on an attack of fever. I rose from my bed weeks later to hear that Beauchamp had vanished. On the night he committed the double crimes of murder and kidnapping he went on board his yacht at Falmouth, and was never heard of again. I searched for him everywhere, but without success."

"What about his estate?" asked Alan.

"There he has been cunning. It seemed that he had long since planned to elope with Zelia, and that some weeks before he had sold his land. He took the money with him, and the child. Had Zelia been alive she would have gone too. As months and years went by, I gave up hope, and I believed that the yacht had foundered."

Suddenly Sophy got up, much agitated.

"I can listen to this no longer," she said. "You are telling lies."

"Her mother's temper,&quo............