r, Bertram, was twice married. Her first husband--my poor
boy, I am sorry for you--was a scoundrel, a thief, a blackleg. He died
in prison. You are his son. Your father died in a Bombay prison; you
were in England at the time."

"Stop, sir," said Bertram. "What was my--my--what was the name of the
man to whom I owe my being?"

"Your mother has not told me. She says she will never reveal his name.
She says that your stepfather gave you legally the name of Bertram.
That, at least, need never be disturbed."

"Then Catherine and Mabel are not my sisters."

"They are your half-sisters; that is a small matter."

"True. Everything in the world is a small matter in comparison with the
awful fact that I am the son of a felon."

"I am deeply pained for you, Bertram. Your mother knew how this would
strike home. Hence her sin."

"I forgot. I have to hear of that. Go on, Mr. Ingram."

"At the time of your father's death she was, she tells me, a very
beautiful young woman. She was alone and peculiarly defenceless; Major
Bertram, he was a Major at the time, made her acquaintance in Calcutta.
You will be startled, Bertram, at the way in which these two made
friends. She was asked to take care of Major Bertram's baby daughter."

"Then he, too, was married before."

"Yes, he had a young wife, who died when the baby was born. Little Nina
was six months old when Major Bertram, who had to accompany his regiment
up the country, asked your mother to look after her."

"Nina, did you say Nina, Mr. Ingram?"

"Yes. I need not conceal from you who that Nina was."

Bertram covered his face with his hands.

"I can't bear this," he said. "This story unmans me."

"You must listen. I am making the narrative as brief as possible. Your
mother tells me that when the baby was given to her to care for she
meant to be very good to it. She was miserable at the time, for her
sorrows with and about your father had almost maddened her. She was good
to the child, and very glad of the money which the Major paid her for
giving the little creature a home. She kept the baby for some months,
nearly a year; and whenever he could Major Bertram called to see her.
Soon the meaning of his visits dawned upon her. He had fallen in love
with her. He was, in all respects, a desirable husband; he was of good
family; his antecedents were honorable, his own life stainless. She
thought of you, she was always thinking about you, you were at a poor
little school in