"Then I am not the daughter of a convict--my father is an earl ?" "I am your father," he repeated, "and you, child, have you, child, have your mother's face." "And she--who has just left us--is nothing to me ?" "Nothing.

Do not tremble, my dear child.

Listen--try to be brave.

Let me hold your hands in mine while I tell you a true story." He held her trembling hands while he told her the story of his life, of his marriage, of the sudden and fatal journey, and her mother's death--told it in brief, clear words that left no shadow of doubt on her mind as to its perfect truth.
"Of your nurse's conduct," he said, "I forbear to speak--it was cruel, wicked; but, as love for you dictated it, I will say no more.

My dear child, you must try to forget this unhappy past, and let me atone to you for it.