"You do not know our true names, sir," said she, hastily.

"Well, I may have conjectured as much. But tell me, then, I conjure
you. Give me your reasons for distrusting my willingness to stand by
what I have said with regard to Mistress Lucy."

"Oh, what can I do?" exclaimed she. "If I am turning away a true
friend, as he says?--Stay!" coming to a sudden decision--" I will
tell you something--I cannot tell you all--you would not believe it.
But, perhaps, I can tell you enough to prevent your going on in your
hopeless attachment. I am not Lucy's mother."

"So I conjectured," I said. "Go on."

"I do not even know whether she is the legitimate or illegitimate
child of her father. But he is cruelly turned against her; and her
mother is long dead; and for a terrible reason, she has no other
creature to keep constant to her but me. She--only two years ago--
such a darling and such a pride in her father's house! Why, sir,
there is a mystery that might happen in connection with her any
moment; and then you would go away like all the rest; and, when you
next heard her name, you would loathe her. Others, who have loved
her longer, have done so before now. My poor child! whom neither God
nor man has mercy upon--or, surely, she would die!"

The good woman was stopped by her crying. I confess, I was a little
stunned by her last words; but only for a moment. At any rate, till
I knew definitely what was this mysterious stain upon one so simple
and pure, as Lucy seemed, I would not desert her, and so I said; and