"Come to me, Golden," she said, and as the young girl advanced she asked her in a strangely saddened voice:
"Are you angry with me, child, that I have filled your mother's place and worn her name for twelve, long years?"
"No, I am not angry," Golden answered, gently. "It was through no fault of yours—you did not know."
"No, I did not know," Mrs. Leith murmured, putting her hands to her eyes while the tears fell through her fingers. "I did not know, and now it is too late."
"What shall you do now?" Golden asked her wonderingly.
"I shall go away," Mrs. Leith replied, sadly.
"Are you angry with my father?" asked the girl.
"No, Golden, he sinned ignorantly," replied Mrs. Leith. "Therefore I cannot blame him. But I must go away from him, and never see him again until he learns the truth whether or not his first wife was living when he married me."
Then there was a brief silence. The two women, so lately mistress and maid—now placed upon the same level by the equalizing hand of sorrow, sat still a little while looking out upon the unknown future with dreary, hopeless eyes. Then Mrs. Leith roused herself with an effort.
"And you, Golden—where will you go? What will you do?" she asked.