y name, Sir," said she.

"Oh then, my dear Madam," cried he, "tell me where I may find my poor,
ruined, but repentant child."

Mrs. Beauchamp was surprised and affected; she knew not what to say; she
foresaw the agony this interview would occasion Mr. Temple, who had just
arrived in search of his Charlotte, and yet was sensible that the pardon
and blessing of her father would soften even the agonies of death to the
daughter.

She hesitated. "Tell me, Madam," cried he wildly, "tell me, I beseech
thee, does she live? shall I see my darling once again? Perhaps she is
in this house. Lead, lead me to her, that I may bless her, and then lie
down and die."

The ardent manner in which he uttered these words occasioned him to
raise his voice. It caught the ear of Charlotte: she knew the beloved
sound: and uttering a loud shriek, she sprang forward as Mr. Temple
entered the room. "My adored father." "My long lost child." Nature
could support no more, and they both sunk lifeless into the arms of the
attendants.

Charlotte was again put into bed, and a few moments restored Mr. Temple:
but to describe the agony of his sufferings is past the power of
any one, who, though they may readily conceive, cannot delineate the
dreadful scene. Every eye gave testimony of what each heart felt--but
all were silent.

When Charlotte recovered, she found herself supported in her father's
arms. She cast on him a most expressive look, but was unable to speak.
A reviving cordial was administered. She then asked in a low voice,
for her child: it was brought to her: she put it in her father's arms.
"Protect her," said she, "and bless your dying--"

Unable to finish the sentence, she sunk back on her pillow: her
countenance was serenely composed; she regarded her father as he pressed
the infant to his breast with a steadfast look; a sudden beam of joy
passed across her languid features, she raised her eyes to heaven--and
then closed them for ever.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

RETRIBUTION.

IN the mean time Montraville having received orders to return to
New-York, arrived, and having still some remains of compassionate
tenderness for the woman whom he regarded as brought to shame by
himself, he went out in search of Belcour, to enquire whether she was
safe, and whether the child lived. He found him immersed in dissipation,
and could gain no other intelligence than that Charlotte had left him,
and that he knew not what was become of her.

"I cann