Irene raised her large blue eyes to Mr. Revington's face. They were full of anguish and despair.

"I have told you already that the secret is not mine to reveal," she said.

"Then I must answer my own question," he replied, with a swift glance around him to make sure that he was not overheard; "you are Elaine Brooke's illegitimate daughter!"

A low cry of bitterness and despair shrilled from her lips. It confirmed his hazardous guess.

"You cannot deny it!" he uttered, triumphantly.

"My God, are you man or devil, Julius Revington?" she exclaimed. "How came you by this knowledge?"

"In a perfectly natural manner," he answered, coolly. "The story of your mother's past is better known to me than to yourself, Irene."

She could not speak for a moment. A hand of ice seemed to grip her throat, her brain reeled, the sound of the river came to her faintly as in a dream. The hot color rushed to her face and her lashes fell. She could not look at this man who held the story of her mother's past—that secret so full of shame and sorrow.

"I know it far better than you do; better than she does," he repeated. "Do not hang your head so heart-brokenly, Irene. You have nothing to blush for."

"Nothing," she echoed, bitterly.

"No," he said, "I can tell you good news, little one. But first raise your head and look at me. I want to see the joylight flash into your eyes when you hear what I have to tell you."

She obeyed him, lifting her sweet eyes in wonder, with half-parted crimson lips that seemed to ask mutely what joy life could yet hold for her.

"You have nothing to blush for," he repeated. "Your mother was a lawfully wedded wife. You are not the child of shame as you have been taught to believe."

"Can I believe you?" she exclaimed, and he was dazzled by the flash of joy in her eyes.

"You may, for it is true, and I can produce proofs of what I say," he answered. "Your mother has been fearfully wronged, but it lies in my power to restore her to her rights again."

"God forever bless you, Mr. Revington, if you can lift the cloud of sorrow from the hearts and lives of a wronged woman and her child," exclaimed the lovely girl, fervently.

"It rests with you, Irene, whether I do so or not," he replied, flashing a look of admiration on her beautiful, agitated face.

"With me!" she echoed, blankly.

"You are the daughter of a wealthy, high-born, noble gentleman, who would be delighted to claim you if he knew that you lived, and who would rejoice to clasp your mother to his devoted heart," said Mr. Revington, watching her closely as he uttered the words. Her eyes beamed, her face glowed with joy; then suddenly a shadow fell on its brightness.

"You are deceiving me?" she said.

"No, I swear that I am not," he asseverated. "I can prove what I say, and I am ready to do so—on one condition!"

"And that?" she asked, innocently.

His shifting gaze fell before that eager, hopeful, unconscious look, but he answered, boldly:

"That you be my wife, Irene."

"I have told you that was impossible," she answered, growing suddenly pale to the lips.

"Why?" he inquired, chagrined at the prompt reply.

"I do not love you," she replied, evasively.

"Granted that you do not," he said, selfishly, "is your hand too great a price to pay to secure to your mother ease, honor, end happiness?"

She had no answer for him only an irrepressible moan of pain that broke uncontrollably over her white lips. Her thoughts went back to poor, patient, badgered Elaine, and her hard life at Bay View—harder now than ever, she guessed, since her father was dead, and she was left to the tender mercies of her mother and sister.

"Dear mother, how gladly I would purchase this man's knowledge, even at the bitter price he asks, for your dear sake, if only it were possible," she thought to herself with a pang like death at her heart, as she recalled her fatal marriage.

Julius Revington, watching the mute anguish on her speaking face, saw that it was no time to press the question.

"Do not answer me now, Irene," he said, with ready gentleness. "Take time to think it over. Revolve it in your mind to-night in soberness and calmness. Ask yourself if you do not owe this duty to your poor, wronged mother. How sweet it would be for her child to restore to her all she has lost."

"You are cruel and calculating," she said, indignantly. "Why should you ask such a costly price for doing this kindness to my poor, martyred mother?"

"Because I love you, and in no other way can I win you," he answered, boldly.

Her beautiful eyes flashed scornfully upon him.

"Would you take a reluctant and unloving bride?" she asked.

"I would take you on any terms, Irene," he replied.

She looked up at him and asked the strangest question that could possibly fall from a daughter's lips:

"Mr. Revington, will you tell me the name of my father?"

The piteous sadness of the tone, and the pathos of the question must have touched the heart of a better man.

But Julius Revington was thoroughly hard and selfish.

"You have never heard his name, then?" he said.

"Never," she replied. "Will you tell it to me now?"

"Not yet," he replied, cruelly. "I will reserve that pleasant bit of information for our marriage day."

She flashed a sudden, piercing glance upon him.

"You are deceiving me," she said. "You are trying to win me by a pretended knowledge of facts that do not exist."

"On my honor, no," he replied. "I admit that I am selfish, and that I am using the knowledge I possess to gain my own ends, but on the morning that you give me your hand in marriage I swear that I will place in your hands the documents that will prove your mother a lawfully-wedded wife, and give you a legal right to your father's name and wealth. Moreover, I assure you that no one will be more surprised or rejoiced than your father himself on learning the truth."

"And what if I refuse to marry you? she asked, fearfully.

"If you refuse," he replied, cruelly, "the cloud of shame shall never be lifted from your mother's life and yours. Nay, more, I will go to the Stuarts and your good friend, Mrs. Leslie, and I will tell them why you choose to make a mystery of your past. Consent to marry me, and on our wedding-day I will prove you the legal inheritor of an honorable name and a great fortune. I will give you until to-morrow to decide the question."

He rose with the words and walked abruptly away.