“Do you know who I am?”

“Your name is Peleg, and you are a wicked man, an enemy of my mother.”

“The same, I do not deny it.  But recollect I am also your father.”

She stared almost wildly at him, and her face blanched and quivered as she uttered a cry of horror.

“It is false!  You are not—­you never could have been!  You—­Oh! never—­never!”

So terrible was the thought that she staggered, and sank down on an iron seat, covering her face with her hands.

“This comes of separating father and child, and rising you above your proper place in the world.  Your mother taught you to hate me, I knew she would; but I have waited as long as I can bear it, and I intend to assert my rights.  Who do you suppose is your father?  Whose child did she say you were?”

“She never told me, but I know—­O God, have mercy upon me!  You cannot be my father!  It would kill me to believe it!”

She shuddered violently, and when he attempted to put his hand on hers, she drew back and cried out, almost fiercely: 

“Don’t touch me!  If you dare, I will scream for a policeman.”

“Very well, as soon as you please, and when he comes I will explain to him that you arc my daughter; and if necessary I will carry you both to the spot where you were born, and prove the fact.  Do you know where you were born?  I guess Minnie did not see fit to tell you that, either.  Well, in was in that charity hospital on ——­ Street, and I can tell you the year, and the day of the month.  My child, you might at least pity, and not insult your poor unhappy father.”

Could it be possible after all?  Her head swam; her heart seemed bursting; her very soul sickened, as she tried to realize all that his assertion implied.  What could he expect to accomplish by such a claim, unless he intended, and felt fully prepared, to establish it by irrefragable facts?

“My girl, your mother deserted me before you were born, and has never dared to let you know the truth.  She is living in disguise in Europe, under an assumed name, and only last week I found out her whereabouts.  She calls herself Mrs. Orme now, and has turned actress.  She was born one; she has played a false part all her life.  Do you think your name is Orme?  My dear child, it is untrue, and I, Peleg Peterson, am your father.”

“No, no!  My mother, my beautiful, refined mother never, never could have loved you!  Oh! it is too horrible!  Go away, please go away! or I shall go mad.”

She bound her hands tightly across her eyes, shutting out the loathsome face, and in the intensity of her agony and dread she groaned aloud.  If it were true, could she hear it, and live?  What would Mr. Lindsay think, if he could see that coarse brutal man claiming her as his daughter?  What would her haughty guardian say, if he who so sedulously watched over her movements, and fastidiously chose her associates, could look upon her now?