charge, I hope?"

"Oh, no," I said, "not at all! Indeed, I have to thank you for quite an
extraordinary amount of kindness. You could scarcely have done more for
me had you been my father."

"You think so?" he said. "Good! I am glad to hear you say that,
because--ah, well, it is useless to think of that now! By the way, is
your mother still living?"

"She was when I last heard from home," said I, "and I hope she will live
for many long years to come."

"I say amen to that," answered this extraordinary man. "When next you
see her, say that Dick Courtenay saved your life--for her sweet sake.
And tell her also that, despite everything that was said against me, I
was innocent. She will understand what I mean and will believe me,
perhaps, after all these years. Ah," he continued, springing to his
feet and striding up and down the room, "if she had but believed me at
the time, I should never have become what I now am! Had she had faith
in me, I could have borne everything else--shame, disgrace, dishonour,
ruin--I could have borne them all. But when to the loss of those was
added the loss of her esteem, her respect, her love, it was too much; I
had nothing left to live for--save revenge; and by heaven I have had my
fill of that!"

"Do you actually mean to say that you were once my mother's lover?" I
gasped.

"Ay," he answered bitterly, "her accepted lover. And I should have been
her husband but for the accursed villainy of one who--but why speak of
it? The mischief is done, and is irremediable."

"Surely you do not pretend to suggest that my father--?" I ejaculated.

"No, certainly not!" he replied quickly. "Do not misunderstand me. It
was not your father who was my enemy, oh no! He was my rival for a
time, it is true, but he was also my friend, and the very soul of
honour. Oh no! the loss of your mother's love was merely one of many
results of a piece of as consummate villainy as ever dragged the honour
of a British naval officer in the mire. But, pshaw! let us speak of
other things. I suppose you have wondered what are my ultimate
intentions toward you, have you not? Well, I will tell you. You once
reproached me with having ruined your professional career. My dear boy,
have no fear of anything of the kind. It was your misfortune, not your
fault, that we were too strong for you, and if Sir Timothy Tompion--oh
yes," in answer to my look of surprise, "I know Sir Timothy quite well,
and he know