She reeled, and her fingers closed spasmodically over his, as white and faint, she gasped: 

“Then he is not—­my——­”

The words died on her quivering lips.

“He is the man who has slandered and traduced your mother, even to her own husband.”

“Oh! then, he is not, he cannot be my—­father!”

“No more your father than I am!  At last I have succeeded in obtaining——­”

She was beyond the reach even of his voice, and as she drooped he caught her in his arms.

Since Monday the terrible strain had known no relaxation, and the sudden release from the horrible incubus of Peleg Peterson was overpowering.

Mr. Palma held her for some seconds clasped to his heart, and placing the head on his bosom, turned the white face to his.  How hungrily the haughty man hung over those wan features, and what a wealth of passionate tenderness thrilled in the low trembling voice that whispered: 

“My Lily.  My darling; my own.”

He kissed her softly, as if the cold lips were too sacred even for his loving touch, and gently placed her on the sofa, holding her with his encircling arm.

Since his boyhood no woman’s lips had ever pressed his, and the last kiss he had bestowed was upon his mother’s brow, as she lay in her coffin.

To-night the freshness of youth came back, and the cold, politic, non-committal lawyer found himself for the first time an ardent trembling lover.

He watched the faint quiver of her blue-veined lids, and heard the shuddering sigh that assured him consciousness was returning.  Softly stroking her hand, he saw the eyes at last unclose.

“You certainly have been down among your uncanny Undine caves; for you quite resemble a drenched lily.  Now sit up.”

He lifted her back into the easy chair, as if she had been an infant, and stood before her.

As her mind cleared, she recalled what had passed, and said almost in a whisper: 

“Did I dream, or did you tell me that horrible man is not my father?”

“I told you so.  He is a black-hearted, vindictive miscreant, who successfully blackmailed you, by practising a vile imposture.”

“Oh! are you quite sure?”

“Perfectly sure.  I have been hunting him for years, and at last have obtained in black and white his own confession, which nobly exonerates your mother from his infamous aspirations.”

“Thank God!  Thank God!”

Tears were stealing down her cheeks, and he saw from the twitching of her face that she was fast losing control of her overtaxed nerves.

“You must go to your room and rest, or you will be ill.”

“Oh! not if I am sure he will never dare to claim me as his child.  Oh, Mr. Palma! that possibility has almost driven me wild.”

“Dismiss it as you would some hideous nightmare.  Go to sleep and dream of your mother, and of——­”