"What a strange, romantic story!" Edith murmured, as Mr. Raymond paused at this point; "and, although it is so very sad, it makes you seem almost like an old friend to know that you once knew and loved mamma."
"Thank you, dear child," returned the man, eagerly, a smile hovering for a moment around his thin lips. "I hardly expected you to greet me thus, but it nevertheless sounds very pleasant to my unaccustomed ears. And now, having told you my story in brief, my wish is to settle upon you, for your dear mother's sake, as well as for your own, a sum that will place you above the necessity of ever laboring for your support in the future. During the last ten years I have greatly prospered in business—indeed, I have accumulated quite a handsome fortune—while, strange to say, I have not a relative in the world to inherit it. The disease which has attacked me warns me that I have not long to live; therefore I wish to arrange everything before my mind and strength fail me. One-half of my property I desire to leave to a certain charitable institution in this city; the remainder is to be yours, my child, and may the blessing of an old and world-weary man go with it."
As he concluded, Edith raised her tearful eyes to find him regarding her with a look of tender earnestness that was very pathetic.
"You are very, very kind, Mr. Raymond," she responded, in tremulous tones, "and I should have been inexpressibly happy if mamma could have been benefited by your generosity; but—I feel that I have no right to receive this bequest from you."
"And why not, pray?" exclaimed her companion, in surprise, a look of keen disappointment sweeping over his face.
"Because—truth compels me to tell you that I am the child of Mr. and Mrs. Allandale only by adoption," said Edith, with quivering lips, for it always pained her to think of her relationship to those whom she had so loved, in this light.
"Can that be possible?" cried Mr. Raymond, in astonishment.
"Yes, sir; it hurts me to speak of it—to even think of if; but it is true," she replied.
Then she proceeded to relate the circumstances of her adoption, as far as she could do so without casting any reflections upon the unhappy young mother who had been so wronged in Rome.
"Of course, I loved papa and mamma just the same as if they had really been my own parents," she remarked, in conclusion, "for I had not a suspicion of the truth until after mamma died. I was always treated exactly as if I had been as near to them as the children who died."