For the life of her she could not withhold that one lightning flash out of her enveloping cloud.
He disclaimed her words with a swift gesture.
“I’m not worthy to claim her friendship, nor yours,” he said humbly; “but I hope you—sometime you may be able to forgive me, Fanny.”
“I don’t think I understand what you have come to tell me,” she said with difficulty.
“The village is ringing with the news. She wanted every one to know; her father has come home.”
“Her father!”
“Ah, you didn’t guess, after all. I think we were all blind. Andrew Bolton has come back to Brookville, a miserable, broken man.”
“But you said—her father. Do you mean that Lydia Orr—”
“It wasn’t a deliberate deception on her part,” he interrupted quickly. “She has always been known as Lydia Orr. It was her mother’s name.”
Fanny despised herself for the unreasoning tumult of joy which surged up within her. He could not possibly marry Andrew Bolton’s daughter!