"It was the motherly instinct reaching out after its own," was the tender response. "But, about my finding the certificate: You remember you offered to put the rooms in order, if I would sew for you meanwhile?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was the time that I learned where that precious paper could be found," and then she proceeded to relate the conversation that she had overheard between Mr. and Mrs. G.o.ddard, and how, emboldened by it, she had afterward gone to the room of the latter to find her in the act of examining the very doc.u.ment she wanted.

She also told how, later, she had gone, by herself, to the room and deliberately taken possession of it.

She also mentioned the incident that had occurred on the same day in the dining-room, when Mr. G.o.ddard had knocked her gla.s.ses off and seemed so disconcerted upon looking into her eyes.

"He appeared like one who had suddenly come face to face with some ghost of his past--as indeed he had," she concluded, with a sigh.

"I do not see how it can be possible for him to have known one peaceful moment since the day of his desertion of you in Rome," Edith remarked, with a grave, thoughtful face.

"I do not think he has," said her mother. "No one can be really at peace while leading a life of sin and selfish indulgence. I would rather, a thousand times, have lived my life, saddened and overshadowed by a great wrong and a lasting disgrace--as I have believed it to be--than to have exchanged places with either Gerald G.o.ddard or Anna Correlli."

"How relieved you must have been when you met Mr. Forsyth and learned that your marriage had been a legal one," Edith observed, while she uttered a sigh of grat.i.tude as she realized that thus all reproach had also been removed from her.

"Indeed I was, love; but more on your account than mine. And I immediately returned to America to prove it, and then reveal to my dear old friend, Edith, the fact that no stigma rested upon the birth of the child whom she had so n.o.bly adopted as her own. Poor Edith! I loved her with all my heart," interposed the fair woman, with starting tears. "I wish I might have seen her once more, to bless her, from the depths of my grateful soul, for having so sacredly treasured the jewel that I committed to her care. If I could but have known two years earlier, and found her, she never need have suffered the privations which I am sure hastened her untimely death. You, too, my darling, would have been spared the wretched experience of which you have told me."

"I do not mind so much for myself, but was in despair sometimes to see how much mamma missed and needed the comforts to which she had always been accustomed," said Edith, the tears rolling over her cheeks as she remembered the patient sufferer who never murmured, even when she was enduring the pangs of hunger.

"Well, dear, do not grieve," said Mrs. Stewart, folding her in a fond embrace. "I know, from what you have told me, that you did your utmost to shield her from every ill; and, judging from what you have said regarding the state of her health at the time of Mr. Allandale's death, I believe she could not have lived very much longer, even under the most favorable circ.u.mstances. Now, my child," she continued, more brightly, and to distract the girl's thoughts from the sad past, "since everything is all explained, tell me something about these new friends of whom you have spoken--Mr. Bryant, Mrs. Morrell and Mr.

Raymond."

Edith blushed rosily at the mention of her lover's name, and almost involuntarily she slipped her hand into her pocket and clasped a letter that lay concealed there.

"Mr. Bryant is the gentleman in whose office I was working at the time of mamma's death," she explained. "He, too, was the one who was so kind when I got into trouble with the five-dollar gold piece, and so it was to him I applied for advice, after escaping from Emil Correlli."

"Ah!" simply remarked Mrs. Stewart, but she was quick to observe the shy smile that hovered about the beautiful girl's mouth while she was speaking of Roy.

"I telegraphed him to meet me when I should arrive in New York," Edith resumed, "because I knew it would be late, and I did not know where it would be best for me to go. He did so, and took me directly to his cousin, and that is how I happened to be with Mrs. Morrell."

Mrs. Stewart put one taper finger beneath Edith's pretty, round chin, and gently lifting her downcast face, looked searchingly into her eyes.

"Darling, you are very fond of Mr. Bryant, are you not?" she softly questioned.

Instantly the fair face was dyed crimson, and, dropping her head upon her mother's shoulder, she murmured:

"How can I help it?"

"And he is going to win my daughter from me? I hope he is worthy."

"Oh, he is n.o.ble to the core of his heart," was the earnest reply.

"I believe he must be, dear, or you could not love him," smilingly returned her companion, adding: "At all events, he has been very kind and faithful to you, and therefore deserves my everlasting grat.i.tude.

Now tell me of this Mr. Raymond."

So Edith proceeded to relate the story of that gentleman's unfortunate love for and devotion to Mrs. Allandale; his recent quest for her, after learning of Mr. Allandale's misfortune and death, in order to leave his money to her; and how, after learning from Roy that she had died, he had then advertised for herself, and, since her return to New York, had settled the half of his fortune upon her.

"Really, it is like a romance, dear," said Mrs. Stewart, smiling, though somewhat sadly, when she concluded her pathetic tale. "To think that, after all, I should find my little girl an heiress in her own right! What a rich little body you will be by and by, when you also come in possession of your mother's inheritance," she added, lightly.

"Oh, pray do not suggest such a thought!" cried Edith, clinging to her. "All the wealth of the world could not make up to me the loss of my mother. Now that we have found each other, pray Heaven that we may be spared many, many years to enjoy our happiness."

"Forgive me, Edith--I should not have spoken like that," said Mrs.

Stewart, bending forward to kiss the sweet, pained face beside her.

"We will not begin to apprehend a parting in this first hour of our joy. Now I suppose we ought to consider what relationship we are going to sustain to each other in the future, before the world. Of course, neither of us would enjoy the notoriety which a true statement of our affairs would entail; at the same time, having found you, my darling, I feel that I can never allow you to call me anything but 'mother'--which is music to my hungry ears."

"No, indeed--I can never be denied the privilege of owning you," cried Edith, earnestly.

"Well, then, suppose you submit to a second adoption?" Mrs. Stewart suggested. "It will be very easy, and perfectly truthful, to state that, having been a dear friend of Mrs. Allandale's youth, and returning from abroad to find you alone in the world, I solicited the privilege of adopting the child of my old schoolmate and providing for her future. Such an arrangement would appear perfectly natural to the world, and no one could criticise us for loving each other just as tenderly as we choose, or question your right to give me the t.i.tle I desire. What do you say, dear?"

"I think the plan a very nice one, and agree to it with all my heart,"

Edith eagerly responded.

"Then we will proceed to carry it out immediately, for I am very impatient to set up an establishment of my own, and introduce my darling daughter to society," smilingly returned Mrs. Stewart; adding, as she observed her somewhat curiously, "Are you fond of society and gay life, Edith?"

"Y-es, to a certain extent," was the rather thoughtful reply.

"How am I to interpret that slightly indefinite remark?" Mrs. Stewart playfully inquired. "Most girls are only too eager for fashionable life."

"And I used to enjoy it exceedingly," said the young girl, gravely, "but I have had an opportunity to see the other side during the last two years, and my ideas regarding what const.i.tutes true enjoyment and happiness have become somewhat modified. I am sure that I shall still enjoy refined society; but, mother, dear, if your means are so ample, and you intend to set up an establishment of your own, let us, at the outset, take a stand in the social world that no one can mistake, and maintain it most rigidly."

"A 'stand,' Edith! I don't quite clearly comprehend your meaning,"

said Mrs. Stewart, as she paused an instant.

"I mean regarding the people with whom we will and will not mingle.

Have you ever heard of Paula Nelson, mother?"

"Yes, dear; I met her only a few evenings ago, at the house of Mrs.

Raymond Ventnor; she is a n.o.ble woman, with a n.o.ble mission. I begin to comprehend you now, Edith."

"Then let us join her, heart and hand--let us take our stand for chast.i.ty and morality," Edith earnestly resumed. "Let us pledge ourselves never to admit within our doors any man who bears the reputation of being immoral, or who lightly esteems the purity of any woman, however humble; while, on the other hand, let us never refuse to hold out a helping hand to those poor, unfortunate girls, who, having once been deceived, honestly desire to rise above their mistake."

"That is bravely spoken, my n.o.ble Edith," said Mrs. Stewart, with dewy eyes. "And surely I, who have so much greater cause for taking such a stand than you, will second you most heartily in maintaining it in our future home. I believe that such a determination on the part of every pure woman, would soon make a radical change in the tone of society."

Both were silent for a few moments after this, but finally Edith turned to her companion and inquired:

"Mother, dear, where is Mr. Willard Livermore--the gentleman who rescued you from the Tiber--and his sister, also, who cared for you so faithfully during your long illness?"

"Alice Livermore is in Philadelphia, where she has long been practicing medicine for sweet charity's sake. Mr. Livermore is--here in New York," Mrs. Stewart responded, but flushing slightly as she spoke the name of the gentleman.

Something in her tone caused Edith to glance up curiously into her face, and she read there, in the lovely flush and tender eye, which told her that her mother regarded her deliverer with a sentiment far stronger and deeper than that of mere grat.i.tude or admiration.

"Ah! you--" she began, impulsively, and then stopped, confused.

"Yes, love," confessed the beautiful woman, with shining eyes, "I will have no secrets from you--we both love each other with an everlasting love; for long years this has been so; and had we been sure that there existed no obstacle to our union, it is probable that I should have married Mr. Livermore long ago. But we both believe in the Bible ritual, and those words, 'until death doth part,' have been a barrier which neither of us was willing to overleap. Each knows the heart of the other; and, though it sometimes seems hard that our lives must be divided, when our tastes are so congenial in every particular, yet we have mutually decided that only as 'friends' have we the right to clasp hands and greet each other in this world."

Edith put up her lips and softly kissed the flushed cheek nearest her.