“‘What is it, madame?’ inquired the nurse, who was seated beside my sleeping baby’s crib. “‘Nothing,’ I answered. And the girl, seeing that I did not mean to be questioned, became silent. “Soon I heard Anglesea leave the room and walk downstairs. “A little later on I rang again and gave orders that if the gentleman who had just gone out came again, he was not to be admitted to my apartments. “Then I began my preparations for leaving Geneva. I clung with all my heart and soul and strength to the conviction that my marriage was sacred. Saviola and myself were both single when we married. The venerable minister of God who united us was most solemnly in earnest when he performed the rites and gave us his benediction. We were married, and no subsequent nuptials of Saviola could affect that undeniable fact. “Yet—though I felt so sure of the reality and sanctity of our marriage, I was resolved never under any circumstances to be reunited with Saviola so long as a doubt of the fact remained on my mind. “I would go, as I had planned, to Weirdwaste, and live there with my child, retaining my marriage name and title for the boy’s sake as well as for my own. “I made such progress with my preparations that they were completed by nightfall. “Anna, my Swiss nursemaid, agreed to go with me to England and remain with me until I could supply her place, when I would pay her expenses back to Geneva. “After my tea was over that evening, and as Fritz went out with the service, I told him to bring my bill, and have it include the night’s lodging and the next morning’s breakfast. “He left to do my errand. “In half an hour he returned, followed by some one with a firm footstep. I thought it was Anglesea, and flushed with indignation. “‘A gentleman to see madame,’ said the waiter, throwing open the door. “‘Did I not forbid you——’ I began, but stopped suddenly and aghast. “It was my father who stood before me.” CHAPTER XXXIV FATHER AND DAUGHTER “Yes, it was my father who stood before me. “He was dressed in deep mourning, and he looked older by twenty years than when I had seen him last. As I gazed on his worn face, on which there was no trace of anger, but only sorrow—I was suddenly smitten with remorse for all I had done to him; wrongs of which I never realized the enormity until now. “The cry of the prodigal son rose in agony to my lips: “‘Father! forgive me!’ “He opened his arms, and I threw myself within them. “He folded me to his bosom in sorrow too deep for words, yet I felt that I was forgiven as I sobbed on his shoulder. “After a few minutes he lifted my head, kissed me, and led me to the sofa. “When I had dropped upon the cushion he sat down beside me, put his arm protectingly around me, and then he spoke for the first time: