find too late, when a father is no more, that he had a right to a
father's home."




CHAPTER LXXI.

Let us go in,
And charge us there upon inter'gatories.--SHAKSPEARE.

"But did not any one recognize you in your change of name?" said the
old foster-mother, looking fondly upon Clarence, as he sat the next
morning by her side. "How could any one forget so winsome a face who
had once seen it?"

"You don't remember," said Clarence (as we will yet continue to call
our hero), smiling, "that your husband had forgotten it."

"Ay, sir," cried the piqued steward, "but that was because you wore
your hat slouched over your eyes: if you had taken off that, I should
have known you directly."

"However that may be," said Clarence, unwilling to dwell longer on an
occurrence which he saw hurt the feelings of the kind Mr. Wardour, "it
is very easy to explain how I preserved my incognito. You recollect
that my father never suffered me to mix with my mother's guests: so
that I had no chance of their remembering me, especially as during the
last three years and a half no stranger had ever entered our walls.
Add to this that I was in the very time of life in which a few years