"Not hers!" echoed Golden, in bewilderment, as she looked at the beautiful woman whom she had for long weeks believed to be her mother.
"Not hers," he replied, "for long before I met and married this lady, little Golden Glenalvan was dead."
A startled cry came from Golden's lips.
"Dead," she shuddered; "no, no; you are deceiving me."
"Not so, as God is my judge," he replied. "But sit down, child, and tell me all your story. Then we may be able to understand each other."
Golden glanced half-fearfully at Mrs. Leith, who stood leaning against her husband's chair, pale and silent, and anxious-looking. The lady quietly and gravely motioned her to a seat.
She thankfully obeyed the gesture, for she felt ill and weary, and the sudden shock of learning that her mother was dead, had been a terrible one to her, and had almost stricken her senseless again.
In low, pathetic tones, and with many tears, Golden told Richard Leith all that she knew of her mother, and as much as she could of her own lonely life, without revealing the tragic story of her unfortunate love.
He listened in silence, although she could see that he was terribly agitated.
His white brow was beaded with great drops of sweat, his eyes stared wildly, he bit his lips till the blood started to keep back the groans of pain.