come a very orderly and presentable person, even for a New England
meeting-house. I will make a beginning now by turning over the little
property which you hold for Adele, in trust, for disbursement in your
parish charities. The dear child won't need it, and the parish may."

The Doctor was happy to be relieved of the worst part of the revelation;
but he had yet to communicate the fact that the mother was still alive,
and (what was to him worst of all) that she was imbruted with the
delusions of the Romish Church. He chose his hour, and, meeting her upon
the village street, asked her into his study.

"Adaly, your father is coming. He will be here within a month."

"At last! at last!" said she, with a cry of joy.

"But, Adaly," continued he, with great gravity, "I have perhaps led you
into error. Your mother, Adaly,--your mother is still living."

"Living!" and an expression almost of radiance shot over the fair face.
But in an instant it was gone. Was not the poor lady she had so
religiously mourned over her mother? That death embrace and the tomb
were, then, only solemn mockeries! With a frightful alertness her
thought ran to them,--weighed them. "New Papa," said she, approaching
him with a gravity that matched his own, "is this some new delusion? Is
it true? Has he written me?"

"He has not written you, my child; but I have a letter, informing me of
his marriage, and begging me to make the revelation to you as kindly as
I might."

"Marriage! Marriage to whom?" says Adele, her eyes flashing fire, and
her lips showing a tempest of scarce controllable feeling.

"Marriage to your mother, Adaly. He would be just at last."

"O my God!" exclaimed Adele, with a burst of tears. "It's false! I shall
never see my mother again in this world. I know it! I know it!"

"But, Adaly, my child, consider!" said the old gentleman.

Adele did not heed him. She was lost in her own griefs. She could only
exclaim, "O my father! my father!"

The old Doctor was greatly moved; he laid down his spectacles, and paced
up and down the room. The earnestness of her doubt made him almost
believe that he was himself deceived.

"Can it be? can it be?" he muttered, half under breath, while Adele sat
drooping in her chair. "May be the instinct of the poor girl is right,
after all," thought he,--"sin is so full of disguises."

At this moment there is a sharp tap at the door, and Miss Eliza steps
in, the bearer of a letter from Reuben.