both well. His uncle, or rather I should, say his grand-uncle, for in
that relation he stands to him, adopted him, and a kinder man does not
live."

"I believe Mr. Woodward and his uncle are both well, the former, I
think, sir, is your step-son only."

"Don't say only, sir, he is just as much the son of my affection as his
brother, and now, sir, may I request to know the name of the gentleman I
am addressing?"

"Should you wish to see Henry Woodward himself, sir?"

"Dear sir, nothing would delight me more, and all of us, especially his
mother; yet the ungrateful boy would never come near us, although he was
pressed and urged to do so a hundred times."

"Well, then, sir," replied that gentleman, rising up, "he now stands
before you; I am Henry Woodward, father."

A hug that half strangled him was the first acknowledgment of his
identity. "Zounds, my dear Harry--Harry, my dear boy, you're welcome a
thousand times, ten thousand times. Stand off a little till I look at
you; fine young fellow, and your mother's image. Gadzooks, I was stupid
as a block not to know you; but who would have dreamed of it. There, I
say--hallo, Jenny!--come here, all of you; here is Harry at last. Are
you all deaf, or asleep?"

These words he shouted out at the top of his voice, and in a few minutes
his mother, Charles, and his sister Maria entered the room, the two