together? Were you not the first who taught her in wanderings, in
privations, to see a Mother in Nature, and pray to a Father which is in
Heaven? Would all this be blotted out of your soul, if she were not the
child of that son whom it chills you to remember? Sir, if there be no
tie to replace the mere bond of kindred, why have you taken such vigilant
pains to separate a child from him whom you believe to be her father?"

Waife stood motionless and voiceless. This passionate appeal struck him
forcibly.

"And, sir," added Lionel, in a lower, sadder tone--"can I ask you, whose
later life has been one sublime self-sacrifice, whether you would rather
that you might call Sophy grandchild, and know her wretched, than know
her but as the infant angel whom Heaven sent to your side when bereaved
and desolate, and know also that she was happy? Oh, William Losely, pray
with me that Sophy may not be your grandchild. Her home will not be less
your home--her attachment will not less replace to you your lost son--and
on your knee her children may learn to lisp the same prayers that you
taught to her. Go to Darrell--go--go! and take me with you!"

"I will--I will," exclaimed Waife; and snatching at his hat and staff:
"Come--come! But Sophy should not learn that you have been here--that I
have gone away with you; it might set her thinking, dreaming, hoping--all
to end in greater sorrow." He bustled out of the room to caution the old
woman, and to write a few hasty lines to Sophy herself--assuring her, on
his most solemn honour, that he was not now flying from her to resume his
vagrant life--that, without fail, please Heaven, he would return that
night or the next day.

In a few minutes he reopened the room-door, beckoning silently to Lionel,