"You will pardon this late intrusion, Mr. Glenalvan. This gentleman has an important communication to make to you, and I ventured to bring him at once." "A communication?" faltered the old man, looking blankly at his son. "Yes," answered Mr. Chesleigh, with the flush of joyful triumph on his handsome face. "He will solve for you the strange mystery of your daughter's disappearance, sixteen years ago." A cry came from Richard Leith's white lips. The old man echoed it feebly, as he rose and went to his son, but John waved him rudely back. "Do not come near me," he said, harshly; "I have always hated you because you loved my sister best." "I could not help it, John. She was more lovable than you," the father faltered, feebly. "And so she stole your love from me and earned my hate. But I have had a great revenge," said the relentless wretch, grimly. "Oh, John, John!" The wailing cry came from the old man's lips; he looked at his son in surprise and horror. "Yes, revenge," repeated John Glenalvan, seeming to take a malicious pride in his wickedness now that its revelation was forced upon him. "I hated her, and when my opportunity came, I seized upon it. I knew she was a wife, yet it was my hand that sent her that lying letter that made her leave her husband." "Devil!" Richard Leith muttered, making an effort to spring upon him, but Bertram Chesleigh held him back, and the villain who had so wronged him laughed mockingly. "She came home," he went on, after a minute, "came home, and her child was born. The following night came her mysterious disappearance which I accounted for by declaring that she had returned to her deceiver, unable to exist away from him." All eyes were fixed on his dark, demoniac face as he proceeded. Every heart hung trembling on his further words. At last the fearful mystery of little Golden's fate would be known to those who loved and mourned her. Old Dinah had stolen silently in, and sat crouching in a corner, her beady, black eyes fixed intently on the face of the man whom she had always distrusted. "Speak," Richard Leith thundered, almost mad with impatience. "Speak! You know she never came to me. Where is she now, my poor, wronged darling?" "Is she dead or living?" echoed the wronged woman's father. "_She is dead_!" John Glenalvan answered, coldly. "Dead!" they echoed, despairingly. "She has been dead these sixteen years," he answered. "Vile wretch, then you murdered her," cried Richard Leith, struggling frantically in Bertram Chesleigh's strong hold. The villain laughed heartlessly. "Not so," he replied. "I hated her, but I would not have risked hanging for her sake. It was no fault of mine that she came to her death so tragically." "Dead and buried these sixteen years," old Hugh moaned, wringing his feeble hands, and weeping as if the bereavement were but of yesterday. "John, tell me where to find my darling's grave."