Richard Leith's dark eyes turned on her face with a lurid gleam in their shadowed depths.
"Hold!" he cried. "Whoever you are, you shall not malign the memory of poor, little Golden. She was pure as the snow."
"Pure!" the girl repeated, blankly. "She was never your wife. They told me she lived with you in open shame."
A startling change came over the face of Richard Leith. There was a glare, like that of madness, in his eyes.
He fell backward into a chair, and the labored breath came from between his parted lips in strong, shuddering sighs.
Mrs. Leith flew to his side, and bent anxiously over him.
"Mr. Leith, what is it? What does all this mean? I am mystified," she cried.
His heavy, dark eyes full of sorrow and despair, lifted gloomily to her wondering face.
"It means," he replied, "that I have had a secret in my life, and that the time is come for you to know it. If this girl speaks truly she is indeed my daughter, though not yours."