“I could curse them in their graves for that wrong!” he cried out bitterly; then restraining his fiery anger, he added: “But no, they thought I had wronged their child, and they could not help resenting it, little dreaming of the artifice that separated us, and that I have never known a happy hour since I found her gone in jealous anger that had no foundation, save in a schemer’s lies. But now that I have found I have a daughter, I shall not be lonely any more. Now that you have been cast off by those that kept you from me, my darling, you will come to your father’s heart and rest there.” Every word sank into Eva’s hopeless heart, drawing her close to him for comfort in her despair. But she held back from him, faltering humbly: “You would not take me, father, if you knew all--my cruel past, my blighted name!” A cloud passed over his face. He was proud, very proud, and the truth was very bitter. But he held her hands tighter; he leaned nearer till his lips touched her brow. “I knew it all before I came for you, Eva,” he said gently. “But whether innocent or guilty, you are still my daughter, and you must come with me to a new life so far away that your sad past can never rise again to blight you with its shame, and I will make your future happy!” CHAPTER XXV. THE OLD LOVE IS MASTER. “Two years since I left West Virginia and began this new life with my dear father in New York! The time has slipped away so fast I can scarcely realize it!” cried Eva as she swept aside with a white, jeweled hand the rich lace curtains from the window and looked out upon Fifth Avenue through a misty veil of fast-falling December snow. You would scarcely call her “Little Eva” now, she had changed so much from the slender maiden of seventeen to a tall, exquisitely rounded young lady of nearly twenty, more beautiful now than in her first youth, with all the added advantages that travel, culture, and wealth could give. The rich golden hair had caught a deeper sheen of gold, the great dark eyes were like shadowed pools that held a sorrowful secret, the smile of the rare red lips had a subtle touch of sadness, as if in her very gayest moods Eva Somerville could not forget the past. No, she could not forget; she bore a haunted heart within her heaving breast--haunted by the memory of the love she had put away--a love that was always crying to her by day or night, in the gayest or the saddest scenes, for recognition.