"Your own daughter will not begrudge me a little love; and, after all, I do belong to mamma Rachael more than she ever can. That is something. Besides, it is from me that you must take your daughter, for I brought her here. Ask her if I did not."
The young girl was smiling, but tears stood in her eyes, and her lips quivered as she spoke.
"Come with me, father, and I will give you to her. It is hard, but I will."
She led Lord Hope across the room, drew back the curtain, and let in the soft gray light of that early dawn upon the trembling young creature who stood there.
Lord Hope shook in all his limbs when he saw that face. The eyes full of tears seemed to reproach him as hers had on that fatal night.
He reached out his arms, with a convulsive heaving of the chest, and faltered out:
"Forgive me! forgive me! for I have bitterly repented."
He did not kiss her—he dared not even touch her forehead in that solemn presence; but he laid one hand on her head, rested his own upon it, asking that forgiveness of God which her heart gave, but could only express by pathetic silence.
Then the old woman came up to the window, and stood there, waiting.
When Lord Hope fell back against the window-frame, strengthless from excess of feeling, she laid a hand upon the girl's shoulder, and, turning her face gently to the light, gazed upon it with tender scrutiny. Then she said, talking to herself: