“It is not an easy task to confess how bad one has been,” the stranger said, “and once no power could have tempted me to do it; but several years of prison life have taught me some wholesome lessons, and I am not the same man I was when I met you, Eliza, (bowing to Mrs. Worthington) and won your hand if not your heart. But previous to that time there was a passage of my life which I must now repeat. At my boarding-house in New York there was a young girl, a chamber-maid, whom I deceived with promises of marriage and then deserted, just when she needed me the most. I had found new prey, was on the eve of marriage with Mrs. Eliza Worthington. I—”
The story was interrupted at this point by a cry from ’Lina, who moaned,
“No, no, oh no! He is not my father; is he, Hugh? Tell me no. John, Dr. Richards, pray look at me and say it’s all a dream, a dreadful dream! Oh, Hugh!” and to the brother, scorned so often, poor ’Lina turned for sympathy, while the stranger continued,
“It would be useless for me to say now that I loved the girl, for I did not; but I felt sorry for her, and when six months after my marriage I heard that I was a father I feigned an excuse and left my wife for a few weeks. Eliza, you remember I said I had business in New York, and so I had. I went to this young girl, finding her in a low, wretched garret, with her baby in her arms, and a look on her face which told me she had not long to live. I staid by her till she died, promising to care for her child and mine. I had a mother then, a woman, old and infirm, and good, even if I was her son. To her I went in my trouble, asking that she would care for the helpless thing to which I gave the name Matilda. Mother did not refuse, and leaving the baby in her charge I came back to my lawful wife.
“In course of time there was a daughter born to me and to Eliza; a sweet brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, whom we named Adaline.”
Instinctively, every one in that room glanced at the black eyes and hair of ’Lina, marvelling at the change.
“I loved this little girl, as it was natural I should, more than I loved the other, and after she was born I tried to be a better man, but could not hold out long, and at last there came a separation. Eliza would not live with me and I went away, but pined so for my child, that I contrived to steal her, and carried her to my mother, where was the other one.”
’Lina’s eyes were dark as midnight, while she listened breathlessly to this mysterious page of her existence.
“My mother was very old and she died suddenly, leaving me alone with my two girls. I could not attend to them both, and so I sent one to Eliza, and kept the other myself, hiring a housekeeper, and because it suited my fancy, passing as Mr. Redfield, guardian to the little child, whom I loved so much.”
“That was Adah,” fell in a whisper from the doctor’s lips, but caught the ear of no one.