"Yes," I admitted, "something like that."

"And I answer, Mr. Lester, by saying that all that is true, that I am
not worthy of her, and that nobody knows it better than I do. There
are thousands of men who could offer her far more than I can, and who
would be eager to offer it. But when I asked her to marry me, I
thought myself the son of a wealthy man. When I found myself a
pauper, I wrote at once to release her. She replied that when she
wished her release, she would ask for it; that it wasn't my money she
was in love with. Then I came out here and had a talk with her father.
He was kind enough, but pointed out that the affair could not go
further until I had established myself. I agreed, of course; I agreed,
too, when he suggested that it would only be fair to her to leave her
free--not to see her or write to her, or try to influence her in any
way. I wanted to be fair to her. Since then, I have not seen her, nor
heard from her. But her father's feelings have changed toward me."

"In what way?"

"I thought he might be interested to know what I was doing, and two or
three months ago, I called and asked to see him. Instead of seeing me,
he sent word by a black-faced fellow in a white robe that neither he
nor his daughter wished to see me again."

His face was red with the remembered humiliation.

"I wrote to Miss Vaughan once, after that," he added, "but my letter
was not answered."