An Ambitious Man

"I had dreamed of becoming a great singer; but I learned that a voice

alone does not make a great singer. I needed years of study, and

this would necessitate the expenditure of large sums of money. I had

grown heart-sick and disgusted with the annoyances and vulgarity I

was subjected to in my position. When you were four years old a good

man offered me a good home as his wife. It was the first honest love

I had encountered, while scores of men had made a pretence of loving

me during these years.

"I was hungering for a home where I could claim you and have the joy

of your daily companionship instead of brief glimpses of you at the

intervals of months. My voice, never properly trained, was beginning

to break. I resolved to put Mr Irving to a test; I would tell him

the true story of your birth, and if he still wished me to be his

wife, I would marry him.

"I carried out my resolve, and we were married the day after he had

heard my story. I lived a peaceful and even happy life with Mr

Irving. He was devoted to you, and never by look, word or act,

seemed to remember my past. I, too, at times almost forgot it, so

strange a thing is the human heart under the influence of time.

Imagine, then, the shock of remembrance and the tidal wave of

memories which swept over me when in the lady you brought to call

upon me I recognised--the Baroness.

"It is because she threatened to tell you that you were not born in

wedlock that I leave this manuscript for you. It is but a few weeks

since you told me the story of Marah Adams, and assured me that you

thought her mother did right in confessing the truth to her daughter.

Little did you dream with what painful interest I listened to your

views on that subject. Little did I dream that I should so soon be

called upon to act upon them.

"But the time is now come, and I want no strange hand to deal you a

blow in the dark; if any part of the story comes to you, I want you

to know the whole truth. You will wonder why I have not told you the

name of your father. It is strange, but from the hour I knew of his

marriage, and of your dawning life, I have felt a jealous fear lest

he should ever take you from me; even after I am gone, I would not

have him know of your existence and be unable to claim you openly.

Any acquaintance between you could only result in sorrow.