feeling,--friend, brother, cousin--it matters not which--he will ever be
the same to me."

Then I spoke of Mrs. Linwood, my adopted mother,--of my incalculable
obligations, my unutterable gratitude, love, and admiration,--of the
lovely Edith and her sisterly affection, and I told him how I longed
that he should see them, and that _they_ should know that I had a
father, whom I was proud to acknowledge, instead of one who reflected
disgrace even on them.

"Oh! I have so much to tell, so much to hear," I again repeated. "I know
not when or where we shall begin. It is so bewildering, so strange, so
like a dream. I fear to let go your hand lest you vanish from my sight
and I lose you forever."

"Ah, my child, you cannot feel as I do. You have enshrined other images
in your heart, but mine is a lonely temple, into which you come as a
divinity to be worshipped, as well as a daughter to be loved. I did not
expect such implicit faith, such undoubting confidence. I feared you
would shrink from a stranger, and require proofs of the truth of his
assertions. I dared not hope for a greeting so tender, a trust so
spontaneous."

"Oh! I should as soon doubt that God was my Father in heaven, as you my
father on earth. I _know_ it, I do not _believe_ it."

I think my feelings must have been something like a blind person's on
first emerging from the darkness that has wrapped him from his birth. He
does not ask, when the sunbeams fall on his unclouded vision, _if it be
light_. He knows it is, because it fills his new-born capacities for
sight,--he knows it is, by the shadows that roll from before it. I knew
it was my father, because he met all the wants of my yearning filial
nature, because I felt him worthy of honor, admiration, reverence, and
love.

I know not how long I had been with him, when Mr. Brahan entered; and
though it had been seventeen years since he had seen him, he immediately
recognized the artist he had so much admired.

"I have found a daughter, sir," said St. James, grasping his hand with
fervor. He could not add another word, and no other was necessary.

"I told her so," cried Mr. Brahan, after expressing the warmest
congratulations; "I told her husband so. I knew the wretch who assumes
your name was an impostor, though he wonderfully resembles yourself."

"He has a right to the name he bears," answered my father, and his
countenance clouded as it always did when he alluded to his brother. "We
are twin brother