“My father,” she said, faintly.  “Then I am not the daughter of a convict—­my father is an earl?”

“I am your father,” he repeated, “and you, child, have you, child, have your mother’s face.”

“And she—­who has just left us—­is nothing to me?”

“Nothing.  Do not tremble, my dear child.  Listen—­try to be brave.  Let me hold your hands in mine while I tell you a true story.”

He held her trembling hands while he told her the story of his life, of his marriage, of the sudden and fatal journey, and her mother’s death—­told it in brief, clear words that left no shadow of doubt on her mind as to its perfect truth.

“Of your nurse’s conduct,” he said, “I forbear to speak—­it was cruel, wicked; but, as love for you dictated it, I will say no more.  My dear child, you must try to forget this unhappy past, and let me atone to you for it.  I cannot endure to think that my daughter and heiress, Lady Madaline Charlewood, should have spent her youth under so terrible a cloud.”

There came no answer, and, looking at her, he saw that the color had left her face, that the white eyelids had fallen over the blue eyes, that the white lips were parted and cold—­she had fainted, fallen into a dead swoon.

He knelt by her side and called to her with passionate cries, he kissed the white face and tried to ’recall the wandering senses, and then he rang the bell with a heavy peal.  Mrs. Dornham came hurrying in.

“Look!” said Lord Mountdean.  “I have been as careful as I could, but that is your work.”

Margaret Dornham knelt by the side of the senseless girl.

“I would give my life to undo my past folly,” she said.  “Oh, my lord, can you ever forgive me?”

He saw the passionate love that she had for her foster-child; he saw that it was a mother’s love, tender, true, devoted and self-sacrificing, though mistaken.  He could not be angry, for he saw that her sorrow even exceeded his own.

To his infinite joy, Madaline presently opened her dark eyes and looked up at him.  She stretched out her hands to him.

“My father,” she said—­“you are really my father?”

He kissed her face.

“Madaline,” he replied, “my heart is too full for words.  I have spent seventeen years in looking for you, and have found you at last.  My dear child, we have seventeen years of love and happiness to make up.”

“It seems like an exquisite dream,” she said.  “Can it be true?”

He saw her lovely face grow crimson, and bending her fair, shapely head, she whispered: 

“Papa, does Lord Arleigh know?”

“Lord Arleigh!” he repeated.  “My dear child, this is the second time you have mentioned him.  What has he to do with you?”

She looked up at him in wonder.

“Do you not know?” she asked.  “Have they not told you I am Lord Arleigh’s wife?”

* * * * *