elling him of the
misdeeds of his nephew. I was by this time myself extremely ill. I
sought to break from my heart all ties that bound it to earth, and to
fit myself for eternity.

_V.--The Rescue_

On parting from my unhappy son, who was removed to a stronger cell, I
laid me down in bed, when Mr. Jenkinson, entering, informed me that
there was news of my daughter. He had scarcely delivered his message
when my dearest girl entered with Mr. Burchell.

"Here, papa," she cried, "here is the brave man to whom I owe my
delivery; to this gentleman's intrepidity--"

A kiss from Mr. Burchell interrupted what she was going to add.

"Ah, Mr. Burchell," said I, "you were ever our friend. We have long
discovered our errors with regard to you, and repented our ingratitude.
And now, as you have delivered my girl, if you think her a recompense,
she is yours."

"But I suppose, sir," he replied, "you are apprised of my incapacity to
support her as she deserves?"

"I know no man," I returned, "so worthy to deserve her as you."

Without the least reply to my offer, he ordered from the next inn the
best dinner that could be provided. While we were at dinner, the gaoler
brought a message from Mr. Thornhill, desiring permission to appear
before his uncle in order to vindicate his innocence and honour. The
poor, harmless Mr. Burchell, then, was in reality the celebrated Sir
William Thornhill!

Mr. Thornhill entered with a smile, and was going to embrace his uncle.

"No fawning, sir, at present," cried the baronet. "The only way to my
heart is by the road of honour; but here I only see complicated
instances of falsehood, cowardice, and oppression."

At this moment Jenkinson and the gaoler's two servants entered, hauling
in a tall man very genteelly dressed. As soon as Mr. Thornhill perceived
the prisoner and Mr. Jenkinson, he seemed to shrink backward with
terror, for this was the man whom he had put upon the carrying off of
Sophia.

"Heavens," cried Sir William, "what a viper have I been fostering in my
bosom!"

"As Mr. Thornhill and I have been old fellow-sporters," said Jenkinson,
"I have a friendship for him; and I hope he will show a proper return of
friendship to his own honest Jenkinson, who brings him a wife."

So saying, he went off and left us.

"I am surprised," said the baronet, "what he can intend by this?"

"When we reflect," I replied, "on the various schemes--Amazement! Do I
see my lost daughter? It is-