The leafless branches
of the trees shone coldly in the thin glazing of frostwork and creaked
against each other, as the bleak wind whistled through them. Here and
there, a ruddy-faced Irish woman, wrapped in a large blanket-shawl, with
a coarse straw bonnet blown back from her head, breasted the breeze with
a little trotting child, who took half a dozen steps to one of hers,
tugging hard at her hand. It was not likely I should meet a fashionable
acquaintance at this early hour; and if I did, I was shrouded from
recognition.

I had scarcely passed the revolving gate, before I saw a gentleman
approaching from the opposite entrance with rapid and decided steps. He
was tall and stately, and had that unmistakable air of high-breeding
which, being once acquired, can never be entirely lost. As he came
nearer, I could distinguish the features of the stranger; features
which, seen by daylight, exhibited still more plainly the stamp of
recklessness, dissipation, and vice. They had once been handsome, but
alas! alas! was this the man who had captivated the hearts of two lovely
women, and then broken them? Where was the fascination which had
enthralled alike the youthful Rosalie and the impassioned Theresa? Was
this, indeed, the once gallant and long beloved St. James?

"You have come," he exclaimed, eagerly grasping my hand and pressing it
in his. "I bless you, my daughter,--and may God forever bless you for
listening to a father's prayer!"

"I have come," I answered, in low, trembling accents, for indescribable
agitation almost choked my utterance,--"but I can not,--dare not linger.
It was cruel in you to bind me to secrecy. Had it not been for the
mother,--whose dying words"--

"And is she dead,--the wronged,--the angel Rosalie? How vainly I have
sought her,--and thee, my cherub little one! My sufferings have avenged
her wrongs."

He turned away, and covered his face with his handkerchief. I saw his
breast heave with suppressed sobs. It is an awful thing to see a strong
man weep,--especially when the tears are wrung by the agonies of
remorse. I felt for him the most intense pity,--the most entire
forgiveness,--yet I recoiled from his approach,--I shrunk from the touch
of his dry and nervous hand. I felt polluted, degraded, by the contact.

"My mother told me, if I ever met you, to give you not only her
forgiveness, but her blessing. She blessed you, for the sufferings that
weaned her from earth and chastened her spirit f