"I'm sure. I got it from one that's known Erris Boyne and his first wife
and girl--one that was a servant to them both in past days. He's been
down to Limerick to see Mrs. Llyn and the beautiful daughter. I met him
an hour ago, and he told me. He told me more. He told me Mrs. Llyn
spoke to him of your friendship with Erris Boyne, and how she meant to
tell you who and what he was. She said her daughter didn't even know her
father's name. She had been kept in ignorance."

Dyck seated himself on the rough bed of the cell, and stared at Michael,
his hands between his knees, his eyes perturbed.

"Michael," he said at last, "if it's true--what you've told me--I don't
see my way. Every step in front of me is black. To tell the whole truth
is to bring fresh shame upon Mrs. Llyn and her daughter, and not to tell
the whole truth is to take away my one chance of getting out of this
trouble. I see that!"

"I don't know what you mean, sir, but I'll tell you this--none that knows
you would believe you'd murder Erris Boyne or anny other man."

Dyck wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"I suppose you speak the truth, Michael, but it isn't people who've known
me that'll try me; and I can't tell all."

"Why not, if it'll help you?"

"I can't--of course I can't. It would be disgrace eternal."