his chair--motionless.

Bursting from those that carried her, Louisa sprang towards her father
with a cry; but ere she reached his arms he had fallen from his seat to
his knees, and with his hands clasped above his head, and upturned eyes,
poured forth a prayer to God. Sinking to his side, she twined her hands
with his; and as if moved by the magic of the scene, the crowd fell to
their knees, and joined in the thanksgiving. It was a moment of deep and
touching feeling to hear the slow, scarce articulate words of that old
man, who turned from the sight of her his heart treasured to thank the
great Father of Mercy, who had not left him childless in his age--to
mark the low sobs of those around, as they strove to stifle them, while
tears coursed down the hard and weather-beaten cheeks of humble
poverty, as they muttered to themselves their heartfelt thanks for her
preservation. There was a pause; the old man turned his eyes upon his
child, and, like a dammed-up torrent breaking forth, the warm tears
gushed out, and with a cry of 'My own--my only one!' he fell upon her
neck and wept.

I could hear no more. Springing to my feet, I dashed through the hall,
and resisting every effort to detain me, rushed down the steps and
gained the lawn. Once there alone, I sank down upon the sward, and
poured forth my heart in tears of happiness.

CHAPTER XXXIX. AN UNLOOKED-FOR MEETING

I made many ineffectual efforts to awake on the morning after my
adventure. Fatigue and exhaustion, which seem always heaviest when
incurred by danger, had completely worn me out, and scarcely had I
succeeded in opening my eyes and muttering some broken words, ere again
I dropped off to sleep, soundly, and without a dream. It was late in
the afternoon when at length I sat up in my bed and looked about me. A
gentle hand suddenly fell upon my shoulder, and a low voice, which I at
once recognised as Father Tom's, whispered--

'There now, my dear fellow, lie down again. You must not stir for a
couple of hours yet.'

I looked at him fixedly for a moment, and, as I clasped his hand in
mine, asked--

'How is she, father?'

Scarcely were these words spoken when I felt a burning blush upon my
cheek. It was the confidence of long months that found vent in one
second--the pent-up secret of my heart that burst from me unconsciously,
and I hid my face upon the pillow, and felt as though I had betrayed
her.

'Well--quite well,' said the old man, as he pr