In her--how happy the telling of it makes me--behold my daughter, the child whom for seventeen years I have sought incessantly--my heiress, Lady Madaline Charlewood, the descendant of a race as honored, as ancient, and as noble as your own!" Lord Arleigh listened like one in a dream.

It could not be possible, it could not be true, his senses must be playing him false--he must be going mad.

His wife--his deserted wife--the earl's long-lost daughter! It was surely a cruel fable.
His dark, handsome face grew pale, his hands trembled, his lips quivered like a woman's.

He was about to speak, when Madaline sprang forward and clasped her arms around his neck.
"Oh, my darling," she cried, "it is true--quite true! You need not be afraid to kiss me and to love me now--you need not be afraid to call me your wife--you need not be ashamed of me any longer.

Oh, my darling, believe me, I am not a thief's daughter.