"Then you can have no personal motive or sensitiveness concerning the matter."
"No, my child—my desire is simply to save you pain—to spare you a shock, perchance."
"Do I know him already?—have I ever seen him?" cried Edith, in a startled tone.
"Yes, dear."
"Then tell me! tell me!" panted the girl. "Oh! if I have spoken with him, it is a wonder that my tongue was not paralyzed in the act—that my very soul did not shrink and recoil with aversion from him!" she exclaimed, trembling from head to foot with excitement.
Her mother saw that it would be useless to attempt to keep the truth from her; that it would be better to tell her, or she might brood over the matter and make herself unhappy by vainly trying to solve the riddle in her own mind.
"Edith," she said, with gentle gravity, "the man is—Gerald Goddard!"
The girl sprang to her feet, electrified by the startling revelation, a low cry of dismay escaping her.
"He! that man my—father!" she breathed, hoarsely, with dilating nostrils and horrified eyes.
"It is true," was the sad response. "I would have saved you the pain of knowing this if I could."