Twining her arms about the girl's waist, she led her to a seat, and sitting beside her, she circ.u.mstantially related all that we already know of her history.

But not once did she mention the name of the man who had so deeply wronged her; for she had resolved, if it were possible, to keep from Edith the fact that Gerald G.o.ddard, under whose roof she had lived, was her father.

The young girl, however, was not satisfied, was not content to be thus kept in the dark; and, when her mother's story was ended, she inquired, with grave face and clouded eyes:

"Who was this man?--why have you so persistently retrained from identifying him? What was the name of that coward to whom--with shame I say it--I am indebted for my being?"

"My love, cannot you restrain your curiosity upon that point? Will you not let the dead past bury its dead, without erecting a tablet to its memory?" her companion pleaded, gently. "It can do you no possible good--it might cause you infinite pain to know."

"Is the man living?" Edith sternly demanded.

Mrs. Stewart flushed.

"Yes," she replied, after a moment of hesitation.

"Then I must know--you must tell me, so that I may shun him as I would shun a deadly serpent," the young girl exclaimed, with compressed lips and flashing eyes.

Mrs. Stewart looked both pained and troubled.

"My love, I wish you would not press this point," she remarked, nervously.

"Edith turned and gazed searchingly into her eyes.

"Do you still cherish an atom of affection for him?" she inquired.

"No! a thousand times no!" was the emphatic response, accompanied by a gesture of abhorrence.

"Then you can have no personal motive or sensitiveness concerning the matter."

"No, my child--my desire is simply to save you pain--to spare you a shock, perchance."

"Do I know him already?--have I ever seen him?" cried Edith, in a startled tone.

"Yes, dear."

"Then tell me! tell me!" panted the girl. "Oh! if I have spoken with him, it is a wonder that my tongue was not paralyzed in the act--that my very soul did not shrink and recoil with aversion from him!" she exclaimed, trembling from head to foot with excitement.

Her mother saw that it would be useless to attempt to keep the truth from her; that it would be better to tell her, or she might brood over the matter and make herself unhappy by vainly trying to solve the riddle in her own mind.

"Edith," she said, with gentle gravity, "the man is--Gerald G.o.ddard!"

The girl sprang to her feet, electrified by the startling revelation, a low cry of dismay escaping her.

"He! that man my--father!" she breathed, hoa.r.s.ely, with dilating nostrils and horrified eyes.

"It is true," was the sad response. "I would have saved you the pain of knowing this if I could."

"Oh! and I have lived day after day in his presence! I have talked and jested with him! I have eaten of his bread, and his roof has sheltered me!" cried Edith, shivering with aversion. "Why, oh, why did not some instinct warn me of the wretched truth, and enable me to repudiate him and then fly from him as from some monster of evil? Ah, I was warned, if I had but heeded the signs," she continued, with flushed cheeks and flaming eyes. "There were many times when some word or look would make me shrink from him with a strange repugnance, and that last night in Wyoming--oh, he revealed his evil nature to me in a way that made me loathe him!"

"My child, pray calm yourself," pleaded her mother, regarding her with astonishment, for she never could have believed, but for this manifestation, that the usually gentle girl could have displayed so much spirit under any circ.u.mstances. "Come," she added, "sit down again, and explain what you meant by your reference to that last night at Wyoming."

And Edith, obeying her, related the conversation that had occurred between Mr. G.o.ddard and herself, on the night of the ball, when the man had come to the dressing-room and asked her to b.u.t.ton his gloves.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

FURTHER EXPLANATIONS BETWEEN MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

"It was very, very strange that you should have drifted into his home in such a way," Mrs. Stewart observed, when Edith's narrative was ended. "But, dear, I am not sorry--it was perhaps the best thing that could have happened, under the circ.u.mstances, for it afforded you an opportunity to gain an insight into the man's character without having been previously influenced or prejudiced by any one. If you had never met him, you might have imagined, after hearing my story, that I was more bitter and unforgiving toward him than he justly merited."

"He must have recognized you instantly when you entered Mrs. Wallace's drawing-room to-day," said Edith, musingly; "for, did you notice how strangely he looked when Mrs. Baldwin called me Miss Allandale, and you came to me so eagerly?"

"Yes; the relationship you bear to us both must have flashed upon him with as great a shock as upon me," Mrs. Stewart returned.

"And how perfectly wretched he appeared when he came to the reception-room door to give me the letter," Edith remarked, musingly, as that white, pained face arose before her mind's eye.

"Can you wonder, dear? How could he help being appalled when he remembered the treatment you had received while you were a member of his family?"

"It all seems very wonderful!" said the fair girl, thoughtfully, "and the fact of your being in the house at the same time, seems strangest of all!"

"It was a very bold thing to do, I admit," responded Mrs. Stewart; "but the case demanded some risk on my part--I was determined to get hold of that certificate, if it was in existence. I thought it better to employ strategy, rather than come into open controversy with them, as I wished to avoid all publicity if possible. I firmly believe that, if Anna Correlli had suspected that I was still alive, she would have destroyed the doc.u.ment rather than allow it to come into my possession."

"But you could have proved your marriage, through Mr. Forsyth, even if she had," Edith interposed.

"Yes; but it would have caused a terrible scandal, for Mr. G.o.ddard would have had to answer to the charge of bigamy; while the publicity I should have had to endure would have been exceedingly disagreeable to me. If, however, I had failed in my plans I should not have hesitated to adopt bold measures--for I was determined, for your sake as well as my own, to have proof that I was a legal wife and my child ent.i.tled to bear the name of her father, even though he might be unworthy of her respect."

"How did you happen to discover where the certificate was concealed?"

Edith inquired.

"Do you remember, dear, the day when you came upon me, sitting faint and weary on the back stairs, and insisted that I should exchange work with you?" her companion questioned, with a fond smile.

"Yes, indeed, but I little thought that it was my own mother who was so worn out by performing such unaccustomed labor," the young girl responded, as she raised the hand she was holding and touched her lips softly to it.

"Neither of us had a suspicion of the tie between us," returned Mrs.

Stewart; "and yet, from the moment that you entered the house, I experienced an unaccountable fondness for you."

"And I was immediately impressed that there was something very mysterious about you--our portly housekeeper," Edith smilingly replied.

"Did you?"

"Yes; for one thing, these hands"--regarding them fondly--"never looked as if they really belonged to portly Mrs. Weld, and, several times, you forgot to speak in your coa.r.s.e, a.s.sumed tones; while, that evening, when I captured your hideous blue gla.s.ses, and looked into these lovely eyes, I was almost sure that you were not the woman you appeared to be."

"I remember," said her mother, "and I was conscious of your suspicions; but I did not mind, for my mission in that house was almost ended, and I intended, as soon as I could resume my real character, to renew my acquaintance with you, as Mrs. Stewart, and see if I could not persuade you to leave that uncongenial atmosphere and come to me."

"How strange!" murmured Edith.