He would tell no lie about her; he would not to any one make her out to be aught other or aught better than she was; people would talk about her of course, only let them not talk to him; he conceived of himself--and the conception was not without due ground--that should any do so, he had that within him which would silence them.

He would never claim for this little creature--thus brought into the world without a legitimate position in which to stand--he would never claim for her any station that would not properly be her own.

He would make for her a station as best he could.

As he might sink or swim, so should she.
So he had resolved; but things had arranged themselves, as they often do, rather than been arranged by him.

During ten or twelve years no one had heard of Mary Thorne; the memory of Henry Thorne and his tragic death had passed away; the knowledge that an infant had been born whose birth was connected with that tragedy, a knowledge never widely spread, had faded down into utter ignorance.