“I have no doubt you speak truly,” he said, “and some time, perhaps, I may see him and tell him myself that his mother was pure, and good, and innocent as an angel; but now I wish to talk of something else, to tell you of my former life, so you may know just the kind of father you have found.” Magdalen would rather not have listened to the story which followed, and which had in it so much of wrong, but there was no alternative. Mr. Grey was resolved upon a full confession, and he made it, and when the recital was finished, he said: “I have kept nothing from you. I would rather you should know me as I am. I have told you what I could never tell to Alice. She could not bear it; but you are different. Alice leans on me, while something assures me that I can lean on you. I am growing old. I have a heavy burden to bear. I want you to help me; want you to trust me; to love me, if you can. I have sinned greatly against your mother; have helped to make her what she is. But I have tried to be kind to her these many years; and I ask you, her child and mine, to for give all that is past and try to love me, if only ever so little. Will you, Magdalen?” He held his hands toward her, and Magdalen took them in hers, and by the kisses and tears dropped upon them, Arthur Grey knew that there was a better understanding between himself and Magdalen than had existed an hour ago; that she knew the worst there was to know of him, and would, in time, see and appreciate the better side of his character, and with this he was content, and seemed much like himself, the courtly, polished gentleman, whose attentions were almost lover-like, and who showed in every look and action how thoroughly he believed in and how fast his love and interest was increasing for the beautiful girl who had been so conclusively proved to be his daughter. CHAPTER XLV. AT BEECHWOOD.