"My dear child," he said, earnestly--"believe me, I shall never speak of your parentage or give the slightest hint to anyone of the true facts of your history--still less would I allow you to be lightly esteemed for what is no fault of your own. You have made a brilliant name and fame for yourself--you have the right to that name and fame. I came here to-day for two reasons--one to tell you that I was fully acquainted with all you had endured and suffered--the other to ask if you will let me be your guardian--your other father--and give me some right to shelter you from the rough ways of the world. I may perhaps in this way make some amends to you for the loss of mother-love and father-love--I would do my best--" He stopped--a little troubled by unusual emotion. Innocent, drawing her embracing arm away from Miss Leigh, looked at him with wondering, grateful eyes. "How good you are!" she said, softly--"You would take care of me--you with your proud name and place!--and I--the poor, unfortunately born child of your dead friend! Ah, you kind, gentle heart!--I thank you!--but no!--I must not accept such a sacrifice on your part--" "It would be no sacrifice"--he interrupted her, eagerly--"No, child!--it would be pure selfishness!--for I'm getting old and am lonely--and--and I want someone to look after me!" He laughed a little awkwardly. "Why not come to me and be my daughter?" She smiled--caught his hand and kissed it. "I will be a daughter to you in affection and respect," she said--"But I will not take any benefits from you--no, none! Oh, I know well all you could and would do for me!--you would place me in the highest ranks of that society where you are a leader, and you would surround me with so many advantages and powerful friends that I should forget my duty, which is to work for myself, and owe nothing to any man! Dear, kind Lord Blythe!--do not think me ungrateful! But I have made my own little place in the world, and I must keep it--independently! Am I not right, my godmother?" Miss Leigh looked at her anxiously, and sighed. "My dear, you must think well about it," she said--"Lord Blythe would care for you as his own child, I am sure--and his home would be a safe and splendid one for you--but there!--do not ask ME!" and the old lady wiped away one or two trickling tears from her eyes--"I am selfish!--and now I know you are Pierce's daughter I want to keep you for myself!--to have you near me!--to look at you and love you!--" Her voice broke--her gaze instinctively wandered to the portrait of the man whose memory she had cherished so long and so fondly. "What did you think--what must you have thought the first day you came here when I asked you if you were any relation to Pierce Armitage, and told you that was his portrait!" she said, wistfully. "I thought that God had guided me to you," the girl answered, in soft, grave accents--"And that my father's spirit had not forsaken me!"