There was a silence for a moment. The breeze sighed softly through the trees outside; they could hear it in the utter stillness. The dim, flaring light fell on the gray head of the old man, drooping forlornly on his breast, and on the lovely, upturned face of the girl, with its tender blue eyes and falling golden hair. "Grandpa," she whispered, "do not be angry with your little girl. Put your hand on my head and say you forgive me for my fault." He could not resist the coaxing voice and the asking blue eyes. He laid his hand on the golden head and said, solemnly and kindly: "I forgive you, my little Golden, and I pray Heaven that no evil may come of this affair!" She kissed his wrinkled, tremulous, old hand, where it hung over the arm of the chair. "Thank you," she said, gratefully. "I am so glad you are not angry with me. And now, dear grandpa, I am going to kneel right here and listen while you tell me my mother's story." In the momentary silence the wind outside seemed to sigh more sadly through the trees; the dim light flared and flickered, casting weird, fantastic shadows in the corners of the room. Deep, heavy sighs quivered over the old man's lips as the beautiful, child-like girl knelt there, with her blue eyes lifted so eagerly to his face. CHAPTER XII. "You are the image of your mother, my child," said Golden's grandfather. "She had a white skin, pink cheeks, blue eyes, and shining hair. You inherit her happy, light-hearted disposition. You bear the same name also--Golden Glenalvan." "Why was I never called by my father's name?" asked innocent Golden. "My child, you anticipate my story," he answered, "but I will tell you. You have no right to your father's name." A cry of terror came from the parted lips of the girl. "Oh, grandpa, you do not mean _that_--you could not be so cruel!" "You must remember that it is not my fault," he answered. She sprang up and stood before him, with a look of white despair on her lovely young face. "Now I understand it all," she said. "I know why my life is so unlike that of other girls. Oh, grandpa, grandpa, tell me where to find my mother that I may curse her for my ruined life!" His only answer was a low and heart-wrung groan. "Grandpa, tell me where to find her," repeated little Golden, wildly. "She must be living, for I remember now that no one has ever told me plainly that she was dead. I will go to her--I will reproach her for her sin! I will tell her what a life mine has been--how I have been hated and despised for my mother's fault, even by my kindred." Sighs, long and bitter, heaved the old man's breast, but he answered her not. She flung herself weeping at his feet. "You do not speak!" she cried. "Oh, grandpa, tell me where to find my cruel mother!" "She is with your father," said Hugh Glenalvan, in a deep and bitter voice that showed what agony he endured in the revelation of his daughter's disgrace and infamy. Golden threw up her little hands in convulsive agony.