His face was growing more gray momentarily, his breathing seemed forced and unnatural, there was a curious, quick throb about his heart that was ominous, but Leonie did not observe it in her bewildered state. She might have noticed that he was pale, but she attached no significance to it.
When he could control himself sufficiently, he began his story.
"I don't know how to tell you what Lena was to me in her childhood," he said, brokenly. "Her mother died when she was a little child, and I had only her. Ah, Leonie, I worshiped her! We were wealthy then, and there was never a desire of hers that I left ungratified. I devoted my life to her—watching her grow as a miser does his fortune. She was my idol, and God punished me, as He promised to do all those who worshiped outside of Himself. She was only eighteen—young, lovely; oh! I can never describe her to you as she was when she met Ben Mauprat. She could have married a prince, but she fell in love with that scoundrel, and while I pleaded with her upon bended knee to give him up, she eloped with him as soon as my back was turned, and the tragedy of her life began. He was a gambler, a libertine—there was nothing under heaven that was low and vile that he was not. To save him from the penitentiary I spent money—thousand after thousand, until I had reduced myself almost to beggary—and the end came! When he could get no more money from me he robbed a bank, was detected, and sentenced to the penitentiary for ten years."
There was a long pause for rest, then, with only an increased pallor in the face, Godfrey Cuyler continued:
"At that time I was living in New Orleans, but that city, being too small for Ben Mauprat, he brought his wife to New York. Evelyn was then about three years of age, and as like her in appearance as could be. When Ben was sent to the penitentiary my poor girl wrote to me, but the letter never reached me. That was the cause of all the after suffering. She thought that I had deserted her, and that made her reckless. Oh, Lena, Lena! You should have known me better, my darling!"
For the first time emotion overcame him, and bowing his head upon his hand, the old man sobbed aloud.
A choking sensation followed. He gasped once or twice for breath, then in a much more feeble and broken voice, he continued:
"She was penniless, helpless, and had that child to support. Well, Leonie, the result of it was that Mrs. Chandler, in her charity rounds, saw the child, fell in love with it, and convinced by Lena of the perfect respectability of the child's parentage, she adopted it. She knew nothing of the baby's father, but believed him to be dead. How can I tell you the rest?"
The white lips trembled. He endeavored to moisten them, but his tongue seemed as dry and parched as the lips. Still by a mighty effort he went on:
"Lena went to live with a family of decent surroundings, though poor. She had a little room in the house, and took in sewing enough to support herself; but it was a terrible existence, one day having bread, the next day none, haunted continually by the fear of starvation. Well, at last Satan succeeded in accomplishing her utter destruction. So small a matter as the water-works in the house where she lived, almost upon the charity of the people, got out of order. The owner of the house came himself to see what repairs were necessary. He saw Lena. I have told you that she was beautiful. Leonie, he fell in love with her. Then the temptation of her life began. They told her how rich and proud he was, that there was scarcely a family in the city who could compare with his in point of birth and wealth, but that pride was his fault. Darling, that man was Roger Pyne!"