Allandale were not my own parents--that I was their adopted daughter."

"Indeed! I am surprised!" exclaimed Mr. Bryant.

"I did not discover the fact, however," the young girl pursued, "until the night after my mother's burial."

And then she proceeded to relate all that had occurred in connection with the box of letters which Mrs. Allandale had desired, when dying, to be burned.

She told of her subsequent examination of them, especially of those signed "Belle," and the story which they had revealed. How the young girl had left her home and parents to flee to Italy with the man whom she loved; how she had discovered, later, that her supposed marriage with him was a sham; how, soon after the birth of her child--Edith--her husband had deserted her for another, leaving her alone and unprotected in that strange land.

She related how, in her despair, her mother had resolved to die, and pleaded with her friend, Mrs. Allandale, to take her little one and rear it as her own, thus securing to her a happy home and life without the possibility of ever discovering the stigma attached to her birth or the cruel fate of her mother.

Royal Bryant listened to the pathetic tale without once interrupting the fair narrator, and Edith's heart sank more and more in her bosom as she proceeded, and feared that she was so shocking him by these revelations that his affection for her would die with this expose of her secret.

But he still held her hand clasped in his; and when, at the conclusion of her story, she gently tried to withdraw it, his fingers closed more firmly over hers, when, bending still nearer to her, he questioned, in fond, eager tones:

"Was this the reason of your leaving New York so abruptly last December?"

"Yes."

"Was it because you loved me and could not trust yourself to meet me day after day without betraying the fact when you feared that the knowledge of your birth might become a barrier between us? Tell me, my darling, truly!"

"Yes," Edith confessed; "but how could you guess it--how could you read my heart so like an open book?"

The young man laughed out musically, and there was a ring of joyous triumph in the sound.

"'Tis said that 'love is blind,'" he said, "but mine was keen to read the signs I coveted, and I believed, even when you were in your deepest trouble, that you were beginning to love me, and that I should eventually win you."

"Why! did you begin to--" Edith began, and then checked herself in sudden confusion.

"Did I begin to plan to win you so far back as that?" he laughingly exclaimed, and putting his own interpretation upon her half-finished sentence. "My darling, I began to love you and to wish for you even before your first day's work was done for me."

CHAPTER XXV.

A NEW CHARACTER IS INTRODUCED.

"And now, love," the eager wooer continued, as he dropped the hand he had been holding and drew the happy girl into his arms, "you will give yourself to me--you will give me the right to stand between you and all future care or trouble?"

"Then you do not mind what I have just told you?" questioned Edith, timidly.

"Not in the least, only so far as it occasions you unhappiness or anxiety," unhesitatingly replied the young man. "You are unscathed by it--the sin and the shame belong alone to the man who ruined the life of your mother. You are my pearl, my fair lily, unspotted by any blight, and I should be unworthy of you, indeed, did I allow what you have told me to prejudice me in the slightest degree. Now tell me, Edith, that henceforth there shall be no barrier between us--tell me that you love me."

"How can I help it?" she murmured, as with a flood of ineffable joy sweeping into her soul she dropped her bright head upon his breast and yielded to his embrace.

"And will you be my wife?"

"Oh, if it is possible--if I can be," she faltered. "Are you sure that I am not already bound?"

"Leave all that to me--do not fret, even for one second, over it," her lover tenderly returned. Then he added, more lightly: "I am so sure, sweetheart, that to-morrow I shall bring you a letter which will proclaim to all whom it may concern, that henceforth you belong to me."

He lifted her face when he ceased speaking, and pressed his first caress upon her lips.

A little later he inquired:

"And have you no clue to the name of your parents?"

"No; all the clue that I have is simply the name of 'Belle' that was signed to the letters of which I have told you," Edith replied, with a regretful sigh.

"It is perhaps just as well, dear, after all," said her lover, cheerfully; "if you knew more, and should ever chance to meet the man who so wronged your mother, it might cause you a great deal of unhappiness."

"I have not a regret on his account," said Edith, bitterly; "but I would like to know something about my mother's early history and her friends. I have only sympathy and love in my heart for her, in spite of the fact that she erred greatly in leaving her home as she did, and, worse than all, in taking her own life."

"Poor little woman!" said Royal Bryant, with gentle sympathy; "despair must have turned her brain--she was more sinned against than sinning.

But girls do not realize what a terrible mistake they are making when they allow men to persuade them to elope, leave their homes and best friends, and submit to a secret marriage. No man of honor would ever make such proposals to any woman--no man is worthy of any pure girl's love who will ask such a sacrifice on her part; and, in nine cases out of ten, I believe nothing but misery results from such a step."

"As in the case of poor Giulia Fiorini," remarked Edith, sadly. "But maybe she will be somewhat comforted when she discovers that she is Emil Correlli's legal wife."

"I fear that such knowledge will be but small satisfaction to her,"

her companion responded, "for if she should take measures to compel him to recognize the tie, he would doubtless rebel against the decision of the court; and, if she still loves him as you have represented, he would make her very wretched. However, he can be forced to make generous settlements, which will enable her to live comfortably and educate her child."

"And he will be ent.i.tled to his father's name, will he not?" inquired Edith, eagerly; "that would comfort her more than anything else."

"Yes, if he has ever acknowledged her as his wife, or allowed it to be a.s.sumed that she was, the child is ent.i.tled to the name," returned her lover. Then, as the carriage stopped, he added: "But here we are, my darling and I am sure you must be very weary after your long journey."

"Yes, I am tired, but very, very happy," the fair girl replied, looking up into his face with a sigh of content.

He smiled fondly upon her as he led her up the steps of a modest but pretty house, between the draperies at the windows of which there streamed a cheerful light.

"Well, we will soon have you settled in a cozy room where you can rest to your heart's content," he remarked, and at the same time touching the electric b.u.t.ton by his side.

"Really, Mr. Bryant, I cannot help feeling guilty to intrude upon an entire stranger at this time of night," Edith observed, in a troubled tone.

"You need not, dear, for I a.s.sure you Nellie will be delighted; but"--bending over her with a roguish laugh--"Mr. Bryant does not enjoy being addressed with so much formality by his fiancee. The name I love best--Roy--my mother gave me when I was a boy, and I want always to hear it from your lips after this."

A servant admitted them just at that moment, and upon responding to Mr. Bryant's inquiry, said that Mrs. Morrell was at home, and ushered them at once to her pretty parlor.

Presently the young hostess--a lady of perhaps twenty-five years--made her appearance and greeted her cousin With great cordiality.

"You know I am always glad to see you, Roy," she said, giving him both her hands and putting up her red lips for a cousinly kiss.

"I know you always make a fellow feel very welcome," said the young man, smiling. "And, Nellie, this is Miss Edith Allandale; she has just arrived from Boston, and I am going to ask you to receive her as your guest for a few days," he concluded, thus introducing Edith.

Mrs. Morrell turned smilingly to the beautiful girl.

"Miss Allandale is doubly welcome, for her own sake, as well as yours," was her gracious response, as she clasped Edith's hand, and if she experienced any surprise at thus having an utter stranger thrust upon her hospitality at that hour, she betrayed none, but proceeded at once to help her remove her hat and wraps.