took her
precious burden, and threw it into one of the boats, a heavy sea dashed
over it, and to her horror she saw the buoy floating away on the crest
of the waves. She gave a dispairing cry and tried to jump after him,
then came unconsciousness. When she awoke she was a prey to despair, to
fever, to delirium. To this succeeded increasing grief. Yes, the poor
woman recalled all this. Her whole being had in fact received a shock
from which she had never recovered. It was now nearly a quarter of a
century since this had happened, and Mrs. Durrien still wept for her son
as on the first day. Her maternal heart so full of grief was slowly
consuming her life. She sometimes pictured to herself her son passing
through the successive phases of infancy, youth, and manhood. From year
to year she represented to herself how he would have looked, how he was
looking, for she obstinately clung to her belief of the possibility of
his return.

This vain hope nothing had as yet had the power to shake--neither
travels, nor useless researches, nor the passage of time.

This is why this evening she awaited her father with the firm resolution
of knowing all that he had to tell.

Mr. Darrien entered. He was followed by a young gentleman, whom he
presented to her in the following words:

"My daughter, this is Mr. Erik Hersebom, of whom I have often spoken to
you, and who has just arrived at Paris. The Geographical Society wish to
bestow upon him a grand medal, and he has done me the honor to accept
our hospitality."

She had arisen from her arm-chair, and was looking kindly at him.
Suddenly her eyes dilated, her lips trembled, and she stretched out her
hands toward him.

"My son! you are my son!" she cried.

Then she advanced a step toward Erik.

"Yes, you are my child," she said. "Your father lives over again in
you!"

When Erik, bursting into tears, fell on his knees before her, the poor
woman took his head in her hands, and fainted from joy and happiness as
she tried to press a kiss on his forehead.

CHAPTER XXII.

AT VAL-FERAY.

A month later at Val-Feray, an old homestead of the family, situated
half a league from Brest, Erik's adopted family were assembled, together
with his mother and grandfather. Mrs. Durrien had, with the delicacy of
feeling habitual to her, desired that the good, simple-hearted beings
who had saved her son's life should share her profound and inexpressible
joy. She had insisted that Dame Katr