"Tell me, Edith, if I can prove it to you, will there be hope for me?" he whispered.
Ought she to answer him as her heart dictated? Dare she confess her love with that stigma of her mother's early mistake resting upon her? she asked herself, in anguish of spirit.
She sat silent and miserable, undecided what to do.
If she acknowledged her love for him, without telling him, and he should afterward discover the story of her birth, might he not feel that she had taken an unfair advantage of him.
And yet, how could she ever bring herself to disclose the shameful secret of that sad, sad tragedy which had occurred twenty years previous in Rome?
"I—dare not tell you," she murmured at last.
The young man started, then bent eagerly toward her.
"You 'dare' not tell me!" he cried, joyfully. "Darling, I am answered already! But why do you hesitate to open your heart to me?"
A sudden resolve took possession of her; she would tell him the whole truth, let come what might.
"I will not," she said. "I have a sad story to tell you; but first, explain to me what you meant when you said that no tie binds me to that man?"