d to heaven my being
were not derived from such a polluted source. But I know too well that
he _is_ my father; and that he has entailed on me everlasting sorrow.
You admit, that if he is an impostor, I was myself deceived. You recall
your fearful accusation."

"My God!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands, and looking wildly upwards,
"I know not what to believe. I would give worlds, were they mine, for
the sweet confidence forever lost! The cloud was passing away from my
soul. Sunshine, hope, love, joy, were there. I was wrapped in the dreams
of Elysium! Why have you so cruelly awakened me? If you had deceived me
once, why not go on; deny the accusation; fool, dupe me,--do any thing
but convince me that where I have so blindly worshipped, I have been so
treacherously betrayed."

I pitied him,--from the bottom of my soul I pitied him, his countenance
expressed such exceeding bitter anguish. I saw that passion obscured his
reason; that while under its dominion he was incapable of perceiving the
truth. I remembered the warning accents of his mother: "You have no
right to complain." I remembered her Christian injunction, "to endure
all;" and my own promise, with God's help, to do it. All at once, it
seemed as if my guardian angel stood before me, with a countenance of
celestial sweetness shaded by sorrow; and I trembled as I gazed. I had
bowed my shoulder to the cross; but as soon as the burden galled and
oppressed me, I had hurled it from me, exclaiming, "it was greater than
I could bear." I _had_ deceived, though not betrayed him. I _had_ put
myself in the power of a villain, and exposed myself to the tongue of
slander. I had expected, dreaded his anger; and was it not partly just?

As these thoughts darted through my mind with the swiftness and power of
lightning, love returned in all its living warmth, and anguish in
proportion to the wound it had received. I was borne down irresistibly
by the weight of my emotions. My knees bent under me. I bowed my face on
the sofa; and tears, hot and fast as tropic rain, gushed from my eyes. I
wept for him even more than myself,--wept for the "dark-spotted flower"
twined with the roses of love.

I heard him walking the room with troubled steps; and every step sounded
as mournful to me as the earth-fall on the coffin-lid. Their echo was
scarcely audible on the soft, yielding carpet; yet they seemed loud and
heavy to my excited ear. Then I heard him approach the sofa, and stop,
close