"Pardon me this intrusion, Miss—Edith," he began, shrinkingly, while he searched both faces before him with despairing eyes; "but I am about to leave, and I wished to give you this note before I went. If, after reading it, you should care to communicate with me, you can address me at the Murry Hill Hotel."
He laid the missive upon a table near the door, then, with a bow, withdrew, leaving the mother and daughter alone again.
"That was Mr. Goddard," Edith explained to her companion, as she arose to take the letter; but without a suspicion that the two had ever met before, or that the man was her own father—the "monster" who had so wronged her beautiful mother.
Mrs. Stewart made no reply to the remark; and Edith, breaking the seal of the envelope in her hands, drew forth several closely-written pages.
"Why!" she exclaimed, in a startled tone, "this is Mrs. Goddard's handwriting!"
She hastily unfolded the sheets and ran her eye rapidly down the first page, when a low cry broke from her lips, and, throwing herself upon her knees before her mother, she buried her face in her lap, murmuring joyfully:
"Saved! saved!"
"Darling, tell me!—what is this that excites you so?" Mrs. Stewart pleaded, as she bent over her and softly kissed her flushed cheek.
Edith put the letter into her hands, saying, eagerly:
"Read it—read it!—it will tell its own story."