"I cannot believe it," she cried, trembling violently. "Who are you who tells me this?"
"I am Hubert, Earl of Mountdean," he replied, "and, if you will allow me, I will tell you what else I am."
"Tell me," she said, gently.
"I am your father, Madaline--and the best part of my life has been spent in looking for you."
"My father," she said, faintly. "Then I am not the daughter of a convict--my father is an earl?"
"I am your father," he repeated, "and you, child, have you, child, have your mother's face."
"And she--who has just left us--is nothing to me?"
"Nothing. Do not tremble, my dear child. Listen--try to be brave. Let me hold your hands in mine while I tell you a true story."
He held her trembling hands while he told her the story of his life, of his marriage, of the sudden and fatal journey, and her mother's death--told it in brief, clear words that left no shadow of doubt on her mind as to its perfect truth.
"Of your nurse's conduct," he said, "I forbear to speak--it was cruel, wicked; but, as love for you dictated it, I will say no more. My dear child, you must try to forget this unhappy past, and let me atone to you for it. I cannot endure to think that my daughter and heiress, Lady Madaline Charlewood, should have spent her youth under so terrible a cloud."