There was a short pause, and Matilda again proceeded.
"Scarcely had he shown himself, when he again vanished, closing the door with startling violence. I sprang from the sofa and flew forth after him, but in vain. He had already departed, and with a heart sinking under an insurmountable dread of coming evil, I once more entered the temple, and throwing myself upon the sofa, gave vent to my feelings in an agony of tears."
"But why his departure, and whence your consternation?" asked Gerald, whose curiosity had been deeply excited.
"I was not alone," resumed Matilda, in a deep and solemn voice. "When he entered, I was hanging on the neck of another."
Gerald gave a half start of dismay, his arm dropped from the waist of the American, and he breathed heavily and quickly.
Matilda remarked the movement, and a sickly and half scornful smile passed over her pale features. "Before we last parted, Gerald, I told you, not only that I was in no way connected with Major Montgomerie by blood, but that I was the child of obscure parents."
"What then?"
"The man on whose neck I hung was my own father."
"It was Desborough!" said the youth, with an air and in a voice of extreme anguish.
"It was," returned Matilda, her face crimsoning as she reluctantly acknowledged the parentage. "But how knew you it?"