"Yes; all right."

"The man Lawrence whom you knew was not my father," continued Chester.
"That was my mother's maiden name. I don't know--I never knew my father;
and shall I say, I have no wish to know a man who could treat my mother
and his child the way he did. No; much as I have longed to know a
father's love and care, I cannot but despise a man who becomes a father,
then shirks from the responsibility which follows--who leaves the burden
and the disgrace which follow parenthood outside the marriage relation
to the poor woman alone. Such baseness, such cowardice, such despicable
littleness of soul!--do you wonder why I don't want to know my father?"

Well, he had done it. Lucy's father knew the truth of his dishonorable
beginning. This highly cultured Christian minister was no doubt shocked
into silence by his outburst of confidence. But he must know also that
this occurred among a Christian community, long before either of the
parties concerned knew of or were connected with the "Mormons." So
Chester explained this to the man at his side, who sat as if deaf to
what was being said. His gaze was fixed far out to sea. His lips did not
now quiver, but the lines in his face were rigid.

Chester beckoned to the daughter, and when she came, he said:

"I think your father is not well. Perhaps he ought to go below and
rest."

"Father," cried the somewhat frightened girl, "what is it? Are you ill?"

The father shook himself as if to be freed from some binding power,
looked at Chester and then at Lucy, smiled faintly, and said: