"My daughter! With Lavinia! No!--impossible--incredible!--" "Sit down again, Pierce," and Lord Blythe himself drew up a chair close to Armitage--"Sit down and be patient! You know the lines--'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will'? Divinity has worked in strange ways with you, Pierce!--and still more strangely with your child. Will you listen while I tell you all?" Armitage sank into his chair,--his hands trembled--he was greatly agitated,--and his eyes were fixed on his friend's face in an eager passion of appeal. "I will listen as if you were an angel speaking, Dick!" he said. "Let me know the worst!--or the best--of everything!" And Blythe, in a low quiet voice, thrilled in its every accent by the affection and sympathy of his honest spirit, told him the whole story of Innocent--of her sweetness and prettiness--of her grace and genius--of the sudden and brilliant fame she had won as "Ena Armitage"--of the brief and bitter knowledge she had been given of her mother--of her strange chance in going straight to the house of Miss Leigh when she travelled alone and unguided from the country to London--and lastly of his own admiration for her courage and independence, and his desire to adopt her as a daughter in order to leave her his fortune. "But now you have turned up, Pierce, I resign my hopes in that direction!" he concluded, with a smile. "You are her father!--and you may well be proud of such a daughter! And there is a duty staring you in the face--a duty towards her which, when once performed, will release her from a good deal of pain and perplexity--you know what it is?" "Rather!" and Armitage rose and began pacing to and fro--"To acknowledge and legalise her as my child! I can do this now--and I will! I can declare she was born in wedlock, now Maude is dead--for no one will ever know. The real identity of her mother"--he paused and came up to Blythe, resting his hands on his shoulders--"the real identity of her mother is and shall ever be OUR secret!" There was a pause. Then Armitage's mellow musical voice again broke the silence. "I can never thank you, Blythe!" he said--"You blessed old man as you are! You seem to me like a god disguised in a tweed suit! You have changed life for me altogether! I must cease to be a wandering scamp on the face of the earth!--I must try to be worthy of my fair and famous daughter! How strange it seems! Little Innocent!--the poor baby I left to the mercies of a farm-yard training!--for her I must become respectable! I think I'll even try to paint a great picture, so that she isn't ashamed of her Dad! What do you say? Will you help me?" He laughed,--but there were great tears in his eyes. They clasped hands silently. Then Lord Blythe spoke in a light tone.