ine long weary years I have never seen
his face nor heard his voice, still he knows not, guesses not how his
image dwells within, how faithfully, how fervidly he is still beloved.
Promise me my existence shall not be suspected, that neither he nor any
one shall know the secret of my existence. It is enough for me he lives,
is happy. My child! could I but see her in the station her rank
demands,--but, oh, I would not force her on her father."

She would still have spoken, still have entreated, but this unwonted
emotion had exhausted her feeble strength. Greatly moved by this
extraordinary disclosure, and struck with that deep devotedness, that
undying love, Percy solemnly pledged his word to preserve her secret.

"My course will soon be over, my sand run out," she said, after
energetically thanking him for his soothing and relieving words, and in
a tone of such sad, resigned hopelessness, that, irritated as he felt
towards Alphingham, his eye glistened and his lips quivered. "And
wherefore should I dash down his present enjoyment by standing forward
and proclaiming myself his wife? Why should I expose my secret sorrows,
my breaking heart to the inspection of a cold and heartless world, and
draw down on my dying moments his wrath, for the poor satisfaction of
beholding myself recognised as Viscountess Alphingham? Would worldly
honours supply the place of his affection? Oh, no, no! I am better as I
am. The tears of maternal and filial love will hallow my grave; and he,
too, when he knows for his sake, to save him a pang, I have suffered my
heart to break in uncomplaining silence, oh, he too may shed one tear,
bestow a thought on one who loved him to the last!"

"But your child!" exclaimed Percy, almost involuntarily.

"Will be happier here, under my mother's care, unconscious of her birth,
than mingling in a dangerous world, without a mother to cherish and
protect her. Her father might neglect, despise her; she might be a bar
to a second and a happier union, and oh, I could not die in peace did I
expose her thus."

Percy was silent, and when the interview had closed, he bade that
devoted woman farewell, with a saddened and deeply thoughtful brow.

Lord Alphingham had been a student in Dublin, in the environs of which
city dwelt Mrs. Morley, a widow, and this her only child. At their
cottage he became a constant and devoted guest, and as might have been
expected, his impetuous and headstrong nature became desperately