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Updated: June 13, 2025
In this new home, in a new world, with father, wife, and boys beside him, and a political career which opened out a future such as he had never dreamed of when he was writing his plays and poems in Russell Square a future made easy to him by Westwood's position and character in the States, and also by the large fortune which Miss Vane had left him unconditionally on her death he had no wish to change his lot in life.
The convicted sinner, the penitent, had nothing in common with Hubert Lepel, as known to the world at large. Presently he came to himself a little and sat up, with his hands clasped round his knees. Some strange thoughts visited him in those quiet moments. What if he gave up the attempt to brave life out? What if he acknowledged the truth and cleared poor Westwood's name?
Hubert scanned their faces heedfully as they passed by, but he could not find one amongst them that reminded him of the thin little countenance, the gipsy eyes of the convict Westwood's child. He could not resist the temptation to ask a question. "Have you not here," he said, "a girl called Jane Wood?" Sister Agnes gazed at him in astonishment, and the tears suddenly rushed into her eyes.
As to Westwood's child, she was in a worse case than Enid Vane, for she was not only orphaned but homeless perhaps, and lost to all that was good and pure. He thought of this as he stood in the fir-wood, surveying the scene where the suddenly-improvised duel had taken place; and, as the memory of it grew upon him, he cast himself down on the mossy ground and sobbed aloud.
Of my father I will say one word to you, sir, who I am sure will be just at least to one who craves only for justice my father, sir, was innocent of the crime for which he was condemned; and some day his innocence will be manifested before all eyes. Mr. Lepel knows he knew before he was taken ill that I am Andrew Westwood's daughter. I told him a few days ago."
But, in spite of public indignation, it was not possible for Hubert Lepel to receive very severe punishment from the arm of the law. He had never been examined at Westwood's trial and the law does not compel a man to inculpate himself. He was held to have committed manslaughter, and he was condemned to two years' imprisonment.
By her own showing, Andrew Westwood's little daughter was no better than a heathen. The judge decided that her evidence need not be taken, and made a severe remark about the unwisdom of bringing so young and untaught a witness into court, especially when as appeared to him the child was of feeble intellect and weakly constitution.
To be shut up, away from friends, away from home, away from the sweet wild woods, the country air, the summer sun, to labor all day long at some heavy monotonous task, such as breaks the spirit and the heart of man with its relentless uniformity of toil to wear the prison garb, to be known by a number, as one dead to the ordinary life of men, leaving at the prison gates that name which would be henceforth only a badge of disgrace to all who bore it in the outer world these aspects of Andrew Westwood's sad case flashed in a moment across Hubert Lepel's mind with a thrill of intolerable pain.
There was a pathos in the tone of her last few words which impressed even Westwood's not very plastic nature. He turned towards her, noting with half-unconscious anxiety the whiteness of the girl's lips, the shadow that seemed to have descended upon her eyes. He put out his rough hand and touched her daintily gloved fingers. "Don't be put out by what I say, my girl!
As she had said, the very sight of Andrew Westwood's daughter made her ill. Hubert turned again towards the girl, wondering whether she had overheard the conversation, which had been carried on in low tones, and, if she had overheard it, how much she had understood. He could not find out from her face.
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