“He, perceiving my agitation, took my face in his two dear hands, and kissed my brow.
“‘Oh, it is not much, darling, only I must tell you. I know your love for me will make things all right.’
“‘Well, Leon, tell me;’ as anxious as I was to hear his round full tones, I trembled with fear. I never knew why I felt that way.
“‘I must tell you,’ he continued, ‘something of my past life.’
“‘Oh, never mind, Leon, I know you are nothing but a dear, good boy, and I will not believe anything else of you.’
“‘No, Althea, it is not that, for believe me, I love you too much to have caused you pain by spoiling your life by my own association if I thought I were not worthy, but there is a blot on the abstract of my life and before it is too late, I must tell you all.’
“I begged of him to keep the secret, but no, he was too honest.
“‘My mother was like you, Althea, a sweet, innocent girl; the man who is my father I have never known, but he, like myself, was theatrically inclined; he came to the town which was my mother’s home and much the same as in our case, my mother took the leading role in the production which he was playing; he became infatuated with her, they were quietly married, but he soon became tired, deserted her, and there was a life with all the glory and sweetness taken out of it. My mother died from disgrace, when I was eight; she held me in her arms and told me the story, then giving me a locket, which contained my father’s picture, ‘take this,’ said she, ‘and when you are a man, find him if you can; be gentle with him and tell him I died thinking of him.’
“‘And have you the locket, Leon?’ I cried eagerly.
“‘Yes, here it is.’