Mrs. Leith drew back her trailing silken skirts from contact with poor
Golden's recumbent form as if there were contamination in her very
touch.
"I have been terribly deceived," she said, "I had begun to like the
girl very much. She suited me more than any maid I have had for a long
while, and I thought her quite pure and respectable. Do the best you
can for her, Mrs. Brown, for I shall send her away as soon as she is
able to walk."
Heedless of Golden's large, blue eyes that unclosed and fixed
themselves reproachfully upon her, she swept from the room and sought
Mr. Leith, to whom she confided the housekeeper's discovery.
The grave-faced lawyer looked shocked and distressed, unaccountably so,
the lady thought.
"I can scarcely credit it," he said. "She has such an innocent and
child-like face."
"Such faces are sometimes deceiving," remarked the lady. "This instance
proves the fact."
"What do you intend to do with the poor child!" Mr. Leith asked, with
an unconscious sigh.
"I shall send her away, of course," Mrs. Leith replied, decidedly.
"Oh, _cruel, unnatural mother_!" said a faint, reproachful voice,
behind her.
She turned with a start and saw that Golden had followed her.
The poor child stood trembling in the doorway, her dress in disorder,
her beautiful hair broken loose from its fastenings, and streaming over
her shoulders, her great, blue eyes blazing like stars in her lovely,
pallid face, her sweet lips curled in scorn as she pointed her finger
at Mrs. Leith, and exclaimed:
"Oh, cruel, unnatural mother! Is your life so pure that you can afford
to sit in judgment on me?"
"Is the girl mad?" Mrs. Leith exclaimed, recoiling from her.
"No, I am not mad, although my wrongs have been bitter enough to
madden any human being," Golden retorted, passionately. "I am not mad,
although your terrible sin has ruined my life and broken my heart."
"_My_ sin, _mine_!" retorted Mrs. Leith, in apparent bewilderment.
"What do you mean, girl? I am nothing to you!"
"Nothing to me, oh, my God," moaned Golden, wringing her white hands.
"Then you deny that you are my mother?"
"_Your_ mother, girl, when I have never had a child in my life. Mr.
Leith, do you not see that the wretched creature is raving mad?" cried
the lady, retreating to his side apprehensively.
Golden turned her flashing blue eyes on the white, startled face of the
man.
"She denies that she is my mother," she said. "Perhaps you will deny
that you are my father."
She saw a quiver pass over the man's pale face.
"I do not understand your words," he replied, in a voice shaken with
emotion. "Explain yourself."
"I am the child Golden Glenalvan deserted at Glenalvan Hall in its
helpless infancy, that she might return to New York and lead a life of
shame with you," she cried out bitterly.
Richard Leith's dark eyes turned on her face with a lurid gleam in
their shadowed depths.
"Hold!" he cried. "Whoever you are, you shall not malign the memory of
poor, little Golden. She was pure as the snow."
"Pure!" the girl repeated, blankly. "She was never your wife. They told
me she lived with you in open shame."
A startling change came over the face of Richard Leith. There was a
glare, like that of madness, in his eyes.
He fell backward into a chair, and the labored breath came from between
his parted lips in strong, shuddering sighs.
Mrs. Leith flew to his side, and bent anxiously over him.
"Mr. Leith, what is it? What does all this mean? I am mystified," she
cried.
His heavy, dark eyes full of sorrow and despair, lifted gloomily to her
wondering face.
"It means," he replied, "that I have had a secret in my life, and that
the time is come for you to know it. If this girl speaks truly she is
indeed my daughter, though not yours."
"Not hers!" echoed Golden, in bewilderment, as she looked at the
beautiful woman whom she had for long weeks believed to be her mother.
"Not hers," he replied, "for long before I met and married this lady,
little Golden Glenalvan was dead."
A startled cry came from Golden's lips.
"Dead," she shuddered; "no, no; you are deceiving me."
"Not so, as God is my judge," he replied. "But sit down, child, and
tell me all your story. Then we may be able to understand each other."
Golden glanced half-fearfully at Mrs. Leith, who stood leaning against
her husband's chair, pale and silent, and anxious-looking. The lady
quietly and gravely motioned her to a seat.
She thankfully obeyed the gesture, for she felt ill and weary, and the
sudden shock of learning that her mother was dead, had been a terrible
one to her, and had almost stricken her senseless again.
In low, pathetic tones, and with many tears, Golden told Richard Leith
all that she knew of her mother, and as much as she could of her own
lonely life, without revealing the tragic story of her unfortunate love.
He listened in silence, although she could see that he was terribly
agitated.
His white brow was beaded with great drops of sweat, his eyes stared
wildly, he bit his lips till the blood started to keep back the groans
of pain.
When she had finished he went over to her, knelt at her feet, and
gently kissed her cold, little hand.
"You are my daughter," he said, "and you are the living image of your
mother. But until this moment, little Golden, I believed you dead. I
wrote to John Glenalvan when my wife ran away from me, and asked him
if she had returned to her father. He wrote back that she had done so,
that she had given birth to a little daughter, and that the mother and
child had both died. Then he added his curse, and threatened, if I ever
came near Glenalvan Hall, to shoot me down like a dog."
His voice broke huskily a moment. Golden looked at him eagerly.
"You said your wife," she faltered. "Was my mother, then, legally
married to you? Am I not a----" her voice broke huskily over the word,
"a nameless child?"
"Your mother was my legal wife, little one. You are my own daughter,
born in lawful wedlock. God only knows what crafty and wicked enemy
of mine wrote that lying letter to my poor, young wife, telling her
that I had deceived her by a mock marriage. She was too credulous, and
believed the lie too easily. It was not true. I can give you every
proof that your mother was my lawful wife, little Golden."
She fell on her knees, and with upraised hands and streaming eyes,
thanked God for those precious words.
Her mother had been pure and noble. There was no shadow of stain on her
daughter's birth.
Then, with a sudden, startling thought she confronted him, her white
hands clasped in agony, her voice ringing wild and shrill:
"John Glenalvan told you that my mother died. He lied! She disappeared
very suddenly the night after I was born, and that villain declared
that she had deserted me and returned to her sinful life with you. She
did not die, and she did not return to you. Oh, my God, where is she
now?"
She saw that terrible question reflected on her father's face.
It whitened to the awful hue of death, and he reeled backward like a
smitten man.
A faint cry came from Mrs. Leith, who had dropped heavily into a chair.
"Oh, Heaven, if she is yet living, what, then, am I?"
Richard Leith went to her side, and looked down at her white, scared
face, pitifully.
"Gertrude," he said to her gently, "we have both been the victims of a
terrible wrong. When I married you several years after the loss of my
first wife, won by your beauty, which reminded me of my poor, little
Golden's, I honestly believed that she was dead. There is some terrible
mystery here, and John Glenalvan is at the bottom of it. But I will
wring the truth from his false lips, and if my lost little Golden has
come to harm at his hands, his life shall pay the penalty of his sin!"