The morning following his conference with his betrothed, our young lawyer went early to seek an interview with Emil Correlli.

He was fortunate enough to find him at the hotel where he had told him he could be found if wanted.

In a few terse sentences he stated the object of his visit, cited the evidence he possessed of Correlli's bigamous exploit, and then startled that audacious person by summarizing the contents of the late Mrs. Goddard's confession.

"If you are not already sure of the fact," the lawyer emphatically added, "allow me to inform you that your sister was never the wife of Mr. Gerald Goddard, as that gentleman had been married previous to his meeting with Miss Correlli. It was supposed that his first wife was drowned in Rome, but the report was false, as the woman is still living."

"I do not believe it," angrily exclaimed Emil Correlli, and yet, in his heart, he felt that it was true, for it but verified his own previous suspicions. "I tell you it is all a lie, for Goddard himself told me, only two days after my sister's death, that, if I chose to look, I would find the record of his marriage to her in the books of the —— Church in Rome."

"That is true; Mr. Goddard supposed the marriage to have been legal, because, at the time he deserted his lovely wife for Miss Correlli, he did not know that he was lawfully bound to her. But, later, both he and your sister learned the truth, and the secret of their unfortunate relations embittered the lives of both, especially after they discovered that the real Mrs. Goddard is still living," Roy exclaimed.

"How do you know this?" hoarsely demanded his companion.

"I have recently seen and conversed with Mrs. Goddard, and all the facts of her history are in my possession."

"Who is she? Under what name is she known?"

"That is a question that I must refuse to answer, as the revelation of the lady's identity cannot affect the case in hand; unless—it should come before the courts and the truth be forced from me," Roy replied.

"Then why have you told me this wretched story?" cried the man, almost savagely.

"A lawyer, in fighting his cases, is often obliged to use a variety of weapons," was the significant response. "I thought it might be just as well to warn you, at the outset, that your sister's reputation might suffer in the event of a lawsuit, during which much might be revealed which otherwise would remain a secret among ourselves."

To convince Correlli of the truth of his disclosures Mr. Bryant announced that he had in his possession, at that moment, a copy of Mrs. Goddard's confession, and proceeded to read it, having first declared that the original was in his office safe.

Emil Correlli, was ghastly white when Roy stopped, after reading the entire confession. He realized that his case was hopeless; that he had been ignominiously defeated in his scheme to possess Edith, and nothing remained to him but to submit to the inevitable.

"Now I have just one question to ask you, Mr. Correlli," Roy remarked, as he refolded the paper and laid it upon the table for him to examine at his leisure. "What is your decision? Will you still contest the point of Miss Allandale's freedom, or will you quietly withdraw your claim, and allow it to be publicly announced, through the Boston papers, that that ceremony in Wyoming was simply a farce after all?"

"You leave me no choice," was the sullen response; "but," with a murderous gleam in his dusky eyes, "if you had brought the original confession with you to-day, you would never have gone out of this house with it in your possession."

"Excuse me for contradicting you, sir; but I think I should," Roy returned, with the utmost courtesy. "I took all proper precautions before coming to you, as it was—although not because of any personal fear of you. No less than three persons in this house, and as many more outside, know of my visit to you at this hour. And, now, since you have decided to yield to my requirements, I have here some papers for you to sign."

He drew them forth as he spoke, spreading them out upon the table, after which he arose and touched the electric button over the mantel.

"What is that for?" curtly demanded his companion.

"To summon witnesses to your signature to these documents."

"Your assurance is something refreshing," sneered the elder man. "How do you know that I will sign them?"

"I feel very sure that you will, Mr. Correlli," was the quiet rejoinder; "for, in the event of your refusal, there is an officer in waiting to arrest you upon the two serious charges before mentioned."

The baffled man snarled in impotent rage; but before he could frame a retort, there came a knock on the door.

Roy answered it, and bade the servant without to "show up the gentlemen who were waiting in the office."

Five minutes later they appeared, when Emil Correlli, without a demur, signed the papers which Roy had brought and now read aloud in their presence.

His signature was then duly witnessed by them, after which they withdrew, Mr. Bryant's clerk, who was one of the number, taking the documents with him.

Roy, however, remained behind.

"Mr. Correlli," he said, as soon as the door closed, "I have one more request to make of you, before I leave; it is that you will openly acknowledge as your wife the woman you have wronged, and thus bestow upon your child the name which it is his right to bear."

"I will see them both—"

"Hush!" sternly interrupted Roy, before he could complete his passionate sentence. "I simply wish to give you the opportunity to do what is right, of your own free will. If you refuse, I shall do my utmost to compel you; and, mark my words, it can be done. That woman and her child are justly entitled to your name and support, and they shall have their rights, even though you may never look upon their faces again. I give you just one week to think over the matter. You can leave the country if you choose, and thus escape appearing in court; but you doubtless know what will happen if you do—the case will go by default, and Giulia and Ino will come off victors."

The man knew that what the lawyer said was true, but he was so enraged over his inability to help himself that he was utterly reckless, and cried out, fiercely:

"Do your worst—I defy you to the last! And now, the quicker you relieve me of your presence the better I shall like it."

The young lawyer took up his hat, bowed politely to his defeated foe, and quietly left the room, very well satisfied with the result of his morning's work.

All the necessary forms of law were complied with to release Edith from even a seeming alliance with the man who had been so determined to win her.

An announcement was inserted in the Boston papers explaining as much as was deemed necessary, and thus the fair girl was free!—free to give herself to him whom her heart had chosen.

Then she was formally adopted by Mrs. Stewart, the old schoolmate of the late Mrs. Allandale, and a little later, when they were settled in their elegant residence on one of the fashionable avenues, society was bidden to a great feast to honor the new relationship and to congratulate the charming hostess and her beautiful daughter, who was thus restored to a position she was so well fitted to grace.

At the same time Edith's engagement to the young lawyer was announced, and it seemed to the happy young couple as if the future held for them only visions of joy.

True to his promise, Roy gave Emil Correlli the week specified to decide either for or against Giulia; then, not having heard from him, he instituted proceedings to establish her claim upon him.

Correlli did not appear to defend himself, consequently the court indorsed her petition and awarded her a handsome maintenance.

Once only Gerald Goddard met his daughter after she learned the facts relating to her birth and parentage.

They suddenly came face to face, one morning, in one of the up-town parks. He looked ill and wretched; his hair had become white as snow, his face thin and pale, and his clothing hung loosely about him.

"Pardon me," he began, in uncertain tones, while he searched her face wistfully. "No doubt you despise me too thoroughly to wish to hold any intercourse with me; still, I feel that I must tell you how deeply I regret, and ask your pardon for, what occurred in the dressing-room at Wyoming on the last night of that 'winter frolic.'"

Edith's tender heart could not fail to experience a feeling of sympathy for the proud man in his humiliated and broken state. Remembering that it was through him that her blessed freedom from Emil Correlli and her present happiness had come, she forced herself to respond in a gentle tone:

"I have always felt, Mr. Goddard, that you were not fully conscious of what you were saying to me at that time."

"I was not," he eagerly returned, his face lighting a trifle that she should judge him thus leniently. "I had been drinking too much; still, that fact should, perhaps, also be a cause for shame. Pray assure me of your pardon for what I can never forgive myself."

"Certainly; I have no right to withhold it, in view of your apology," she responded.

"Thank you; and—and may I presume to ask you one question more?" he pleaded.

Edith's heart leaped into her throat at this, for she was impressed with a knowledge and a dread of what was coming.

For the moment she could not speak—she could only bow her assent to his request.

"I want to ask if—if, since you left my house, you have learned anything regarding my previous history?" he inquired, with pale lips.

"Yes," she said, sadly, "I know it all. My mother told me only because I demanded the truth. She would have preferred to keep some things from me, for your sake as well as mine, but I could not be satisfied with any partial disclosure."

"How you must hate me!" the man burst forth, while great drops of agony gathered about his mouth.

He had never believed that a human being could suffer as he suffered at that moment, in knowing that by his own vileness he had forever barred himself outside the affections of this lovely girl, toward whom he had always—since the first hour of their meeting—been strangely attracted, and whose love and respect, now that he knew she was his own child, seemed the most priceless boons that earth could hold for him.

At first Edith could make no reply to his passionate outburst.

"No," she said, at last, and lifting a regretful look to him, "I hope that there is not an atom of 'hate' in my heart toward any human being, especially toward any one who might experience an honest, though late, repentance for misdeeds."

"Ah! thank you; then have you not some word of comfort—some message of peace for me?" tremulously pleaded the once haughty, self-sufficient man, while he half extended his hands toward her, in a gesture of entreaty.

Her lips quivered, and tears sprang involuntarily to her eyes, while it was only after a prolonged effort that she was able to respond.

"Yes," she said, at last, a solemn sweetness in her unsteady tones, "the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace."

She often wondered afterward how it happened that those words of blessing, once uttered by a patriarch of old, should have slipped almost unconsciously from her lips.

She did not even wait to note their effect upon her companion, but, gliding swiftly past him, went on her way.