Mr. Flint turned white.

"This letter, which I shall give you by and by," said the man of law,
"divulges a plot of villainy which heaven happily thought fit to prostrate;
and I'll prove the truth of what I say."

And the lawyer motioned for Daisy to approach him.

She did so, mechanically.

"This lady," said Mr. Burbank, smiling blandly, "is my first witness. Will
you raise your veil?"

Daisy complied with the request, and looked Mr. Flint in the face. Flint
turned his eyes on her with such earnestness that she shrunk back. Then he
staggered to a chair, and exclaimed involuntarily:

"So help me God, it is Henry's child!"

Edward Walters rested his hands on the desk, and looked over the baize
screen.

Mortimer stepped to Daisy's side.

"This necklace," he said, in a trembling voice, "I return to the owner. It
was my misfortune to take it by mistake, and it is happiness to return it
to one who does not require any proof of my innocence."

Daisy pressed his hand.

"Let me go!" exclaimed Mr. Flint.

"Presently, Mr. Flint. You must first witness the _denouement_ of our
little drama."

With this the lawyer turned to Mortimer, and handed him a paper.

"What this fails to explain relative to your father, you must seek from his
own lips."

"My father!--his lips!"--repeated Mortimer, bewildered.

He opened the paper.

"My father! where is he?"

"Mortimer!" cried Walters, pushing aside the screen.

And they stood face to face.

XVI.

_Our revels now are ended: these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind!_

SHAKESPEARE.

XVI.

THE OLD HOUSE BY THE SEA.

_Clap-Trap--John Flint--The Old House by the Sea--Joe Wilkes--Strephon
and Chloe--Tim Enjoying Himself--Edward Walters and Little Bell--A
Last Word._

It is an artistic little weakness we scribblers have of seducing our
dramatis personae into _tableaux vivants_, and deserting them abruptly. In a
story of this kind, which depends rather on action than fine writing for
interest, this species of autorial clap-trap is very effective, if cleverly
done. So we will make