Madam Sylvester led Earle back to the room where she had first met him, and motioning him to a chair, took one herself near him.
“I know you are anxious to see Editha,” she said; “but she is not yet awake. I peeped into her room on my way to Mr. Dalton’s, and the dear child has not moved since I looked in before. She was nearly worn out this morning when she went to rest. Now I will do as you say—leave this interesting story for her to finish, or relieve your suspense and tell you myself while she sleeps,” she added, with her charming manner.
“Tell me by all means,” Earle said, earnestly. “I cannot endure the suspense, and I am utterly amazed by Mr. Dalton’s last statement to me.”
“It is not to be wondered at, and your amazement probably will not end there. Your query, when he told you Editha was not his child, very naturally was, ‘Whose is she, then?’ My lord, I am Editha’s mother!”
Earle looked the astonishment that he could not express, and yet the shadow of suspicion of this had crossed his mind just before leaving Mr. Dalton’s room.
“I never believed anything would ever again give me such joy as this knowledge does,” Earle said, with a deep-drawn sigh of thankfulness, and beginning to realize something of the joy that might be in store for him.
Editha, no longer regarded as a sister, might now be claimed as a wife.
Madam smiled. She greatly admired the handsome young marquis, and her heart was very light to know of the brilliant future that lay before her beautiful daughter.
“It gives me pleasure to hear you say that,” she said. “And now, if you have patience, I will tell you my sad story and all regarding Editha’s parentage, as I have already related it to her.”
“I have patience,” Earle said, smiling; and madam began: