e was stunned and appalled
by it; how she could never again live under one roof with such a
woman; and how she came to him for advice, for encouragement, for
assistance. She flung herself on his mercy. Every word she spoke
impressed Sir Anthony. This was no mere acting; the girl really
meant it. Brought up in those hateful surroundings, innate purity
of mind had preserved her innocent heart from the contagion of
example. She spoke like a sensible, modest, healthy English
maiden. She was indeed a granddaughter any man might be proud of.
'Twas clear as the sun in the London sky to Sir Anthony that she
recoiled with horror from her mother's position. He sympathized
with her and pitied her. Dolores, all blushes, lifted her eyelids
and looked at him. Her grandfather drew her towards him with a
smile of real tenderness, and, unbending as none had seen him
unbend before since Alan's death, told her all the sad history as
he himself envisaged it. Dolores listened and shuddered. The old
man was vanquished. He would have taken her once to himself, he
said, if Herminia had permitted it; he would take her to himself
now, if Dolores would come to him.

As for Dolly, she lay sobbing and crying in Sir Anthony's arms, as
though she had always known him. After all, he was her grandfather.
Nearer to her in heart and soul than her mother. And the butler
could hardly conceal his surprise and amazement when three minutes
later Sir Anthony rang the bell, and being discovered alone with a
strange young lady in tears, made the unprecedented announcement
that he would see no patients at all that morning, and was at home
to nobody.

But before Dolly left her new-found relation's house, it was all
arranged between them. She was to come there at once as his
adopted daughter; was to take and use the name of Merrick; was to
see nothing more of that wicked woman, her mother; and was to be
married in due time from Sir Anthony's house, and under Sir
Anthony's auspices, to Walter Brydges.

She wrote to Walter then and there, from her grandfather's
consulting-room. Numb with shame as she was, she nerved her hand
to write to him. In what most delicate language she could find,
she let him plainly know who Sir Anthony was, and all else that had
happened. But she added at the end one significant clause: "While
my mother lives, dear Walter, I feel I can never marry you."

XXIII.

When she returned from Sir Anthony's to her m