oud shriek rang out on the air, and a piercing cry, "It is
she!--Yes, it is she! I see, I see! Ah! no, it is not my daughter! She
would not come to me if she could!" broke forth from him.

"I am your daughter," said Clotelle, as she pressed her handkerchief to
her face, and sobbed aloud.

Like balls of fire, the poor man's eyes rolled and glared upon the
company, while large drops of perspiration ran down his pale and
emaciated face. Strange as the scene appeared, all present saw that it
was indeed a meeting between a father and his long-lost daughter. Jerome
now ordered all present to leave the room, except the nurse, and every
effort was at once made to quiet the sufferer. When calm, a joyous smile
would illuminate the sick man's face, and a strange light beam in his
eyes, as he seemed to realize that she who stood before him was indeed
his child.

For two long days and nights did Clotelle watch at the bedside of her
father before he could speak to her intelligently. Sometimes, in his
insane fits, he would rave in the most frightful manner, and then, in a
few moments, would be as easily governed as a child. At last, however,
after a long and apparently refreshing sleep, he awoke suddenly to a
full consciousness that it was indeed his daughter who was watching so
patiently by his side.

The presence of his long absent child had a soothing effect upon Mr.
Linwood, and he now recovered rapidly from the sad and almost hopeless
condition in which she had found him. When able to converse, without
danger of a relapse, he told Clotelle of his fruitless efforts to obtain
a clew to her whereabouts after old Mrs. Miller had sold her to the
slave-trader. In answer to his daughter's inquiries about his family
affairs up to the time that he left America, he said,--

"I blamed my wife for your being sold and sent away, for I thought she
and her mother were acting in collusion; But I afterwards found that
I had blamed her wrongfully. Poor woman! she knew that I loved your
mother, and feeling herself forsaken, she grew melancholy and died in a
decline three years ago."

Here both father and daughter wept at the thought of other days. When
they had recovered their composure, Mr. Linwood went on again:

"Old Mrs. Miller," said he, "after the death of Gertrude, aware that
she had contributed much toward her unhappiness, took to the free use
of intoxicating drinks, and became the most brutal creature that ever
lived. She whipped h