convulsion that goes with
weeping in weaker natures overpowered him in a way that was almost
terrible.

"Confound it!" said General Rolleston, "this is monstrous of you, Helen;
it is barbarous. You are not like your poor mother."

She was pale and trembling, and the tears flowing; but she showed her
native obstinacy. She said hoarsely: "Papa, you are blind. He _must_
answer me. He knows he must!"

"I must," said Robert Penfold, gasping still. Then he manned himself by a
mighty effort, and repeated with dignity, "I will."

There was a pause while the young man still struggled for composure and
self-command.

"Was I not often on the point of telling you my sad story? Then is it
fair to say that I should never have told it you? But, oh, Miss
Rolleston, you don't know what agony it may be to an unfortunate man to
tell the truth. There are accusations so terrible, so _defiling,_ that,
when a man has proved them false, they still stick to him and soil him.
Such an accusation I labor under, and a judge and a jury have branded me.
If they had called me a murderer, I would have told you; but _that_ is
such a dirty crime. I feared the prejudices of the world. I dreaded to
see your face alter to me. Yes, I trembled, and hesitated, and asked
myself whether a man is bound to repeat a foul slander against himself,
even when thirteen shallow men have said it, and made the lie law."

"There," said General Rolleston, "I thought how it would be, Helen; you
have tormented him into defending himself, tooth and nail; so now we
shall have the old story; he is innocent; I never knew a convict that
wasn't, if he found a fool to listen to him. I decline to hear another
word. You needn't excuse yourself for changing your name; I excuse it,
and that is enough. But the boat is waiting, and we can't stay to hear
you justify a felony."

"I AM NOT A FELON. I AM A MARTYR."

CHAPTER LII.

ROBERT PENFOLD drew himself up to his full height and uttered these
strange words with a sad majesty that was very imposing. But General
Rolleston, steeled by experience of convicts, their plausibility and
their histrionic powers, was staggered only for a moment. He deigned no
reply; but told Helen that Captain Moreland was waiting for her, and she
had better go on board at once.

She stood like a statue.

"No, papa, I'll not turn my back on him till I know whether he is a felon
or a martyr."

"My poor child, has he caught you at once with a cleve