day in her presence that he had spent an evening with you in this neighbourhood."

66

Ah, I remember," said Herbert, slightly compressing his lips, as he exchanged a significant glance with Sir Edward (who, I may observe, en passant, had several times ere this attempted to leave the father and son together, but was begged by Mr. Seymour to remain. He could not, so he touchingly remarked, forget who it was that had nursed and cared for Herbert when he was lying at death's door, a stranger in a strange place, neglected and forsaken by his own unnatural father; and henceforth it would, he said, be his joy and pride to be permitted to class the young baronet among his most valued and choicest friends).

"And then?" resumed the son.

"And then she insisted upon our immediately setting out for Lanchester; and no sooner had we arrived than she suddenly renembered that her old friend Lady Stanley used formerly to reside here, and she urged me to lose not a moment in calling upon Sir Edward, and finding out from him where you were to be found."

66

'My poor mother!" ejaculated Herbert, softly; "do let us go to her at once."

Sir Edward shook his head. "You must not be abrupt," he interposed, gravely; "in her delicate state of health, any sudden emotion might be attended with very serious results. Would it not be well," he inquired of Mr. Seymour, "for you to return home with us, and consult my mother as to the most prudent course to adopt?"

"It is growing late," returned Mr. Seymour, who appeared rather embarrassed, "and I scarcely like obtruding myself upon Lady Stanley."

"Pray don't refuse me," said Sir Edward, warmly; "she loves Herbert as her own son, and would be sorry indeed if you hesitated to avail yourself of her assistance. If you fear to leave Mrs. Seymour so long alone, we might call at the hotel, and leave a message which, if cautiously worded, may in some measure prepare her

"Yes, yes, that will do," eagerly assented Mr. Seymour. And he left the hall, leaning upon his son's arm.

Sir Edward's carriage was waiting for them outside, and after driving to the hotel, and leaving the proposed message, they rapidly proceeded to the baronet's house, where Lady Stanley and her daughter had arrived more than half an hour previously.

CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

REUNION.

"And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought:

In troth, I'm like to greet."

W. J. MICKLE.

"The warmest love that can grow cold

This is a mother's love." JAMES MONTGOMERY.

"My good Willson, what o'clock is it?"

These words were uttered in rather a querimonious voice by a delicate-looking lady, who was half-sitting, half-reclining upon a softly cushioned sofa, near a bright fire, which the coolness of the evening, and the large size of the well-furnished apartment rendered both cheerful and pleasant.

66

'Indeed, ma'am, it is getting very late," replied our old friend Willson, coming instantly forward, and revealing, as she stood exposed to the full glare of the massive chandelier, a face on which time and anxiety had left many furrows. "Do you not think you should retire to rest? I am sure you must be tired after your long journey."

"Yes, I am tired," said Mrs. Seymour, with a little sigh of weariness. Still, I should like to wait until Mr. Seymour returns. I can't help fancying he will bring me some news of Herbert."

To this Willson made no reply. She was so painfully accustomed to these and similar observations that she never now attempted to answer them, though within the last few weeks her fears as to the issue of this ceaseless and vain pursuit after a person who was— so she firmly believed-peacefully sleeping beneath the ocean wave, had begun to assume a more definite form, and she was on the point of relinquishing even the faint hope she had hitherto fostered (almost against he reason) that the unfortunate lady's monomania regarding her long-lost son would gradually subside, or be suddenly exchanged for some other and less harassing chimera.

"I don't believe my husband would remain so long away," continued Mrs. Seymour, after a pause, "unless he- But what is that?" she hastily exclaimed, as the sound of suppressed voices outside, followed by the opening and shutting of one of the doors of an adjoining apartment, spoke of an arrival; "can he have returned?"

"I'll go and see," said Willson, with an involuntary sigh of patient endurance.

But ere she could do more than rise from the seat she had just resumed, Mr. Seymour himself stood before them.

"Here I am at last, my dear," he observed in a tone of forced composure; and going behind his wife's sofa he leant forward and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Have you any tidings for me?" she asked, in a tone of slight impatiently.

"Tidings!" he repeated, trying to disguise his emotion in a tone of light and playful tenor. "Ah, my dear!" shaking his head good humouredly, "you are sadly unreasonable."

"But you have not answered my question," persisted Mrs. Seymour, a slight frown contracting her brow.

"I have brought your old friend Lady Stanley to see you, as I supposed

"Where is she?"-starting up with animation.

"Are you sure that you feel equal to the exertion of receiving her to-night?" questioned Mr. Seymour, in some anxiety.

66

Oh, yes, I shall be most happy to have an opportunity of speaking to her about Herbert," replied the lady, with energy. "I have not the slightest doubt that she can give some information regarding his movements."

"Well, I really believe you are right," returned Mr. Seymour, with an air of one who has been all at once convinced of the truth of an assertion which he had hitherto refused to credit.

"Do you hear that, Willson?" cried Mrs. Seymour, triumphantly; "even Mr. Seymour, is at last converted to my opinion! although he did try to persuade me that our coming to Lanchester would be attended with no satisfactory result."

"Yes, I must confess myself to be in the wrong," was her husband's candid response, " and I am thankful indeed now that I took your advice, my dear."

"Ah, I knew how it would be," complacently rejoined Mrs. Seymour; "but what have you heard?"

"That Lady Stanley will explain," said the happy man; and moving away from her with a smile of unspeakable satisfaction, he quickly recrossed the large room, and disappeared through the halfopened door.

When he returned, after the lapse of a few seconds, Lady Stanley was leaning upon his arm.

"Now I will leave you together," he said, exchanging a meaning glance with the latter, as soon as their first cordial greetings were

over.

And, beckoning to the astonished Willson to follow, he adjourned with her into another room.

"Sit down and listen to me, my good friend," he said, gently placing her in a chair. "I have news for you."

"O sir," she wailed, leaning back in a disconsolate attitude, "what has happened now? What fresh piece of deception are we called upon to practise?"

"Hush! don't excite yourself," said Mr. Seymour, laying his hand soothingly upon her shoulder.

"Alas! I can't help it," she replied, mournfully shaking her head; "when I see things so evidently growing worse instead of better, I naturally begin to ask myself where it will all end."

"Do you remember," interposed Mr. Seymour, in a slow and impressive voice, "how on one never-to-be-forgotten night, or rather morning, you came to me, and told me that she, whom I mourned as dead, was through God's mercy restored to life?—-do you remember this, Willson? "`

"Yes, yes," she answered apparently, surprised at the question; "could it be otherwise?"

"And do you not think that He who brought her back from the very gates of the grave could, if it had pleased Him, have preserved my son also from the fury of the wave?"

"Surely His power is infinite,” murmured the old woman, with tearful eyes.

"Well, listen to me, then," proceeded Mr. Seymour, quickly. Supposing I had this evening heard (we are merely imagining a case, you know,) that Herbert-nay, don't start and look so terribly agitated, or I shall be unable to finish my sentence-that Herbert," he repeated, in a firm tone, “is, notwithstanding his reported death, still alive

"O sir, do not trifle with me," gasped Willson, with white, trembling lips; "but, no," hastily correcting herself, “you would never do that, especially on such a subject. Alive! it cannot be! Did I not read the account with my own eyes? and did I not—" “And yet it has occasionally happened,” observed Mr. Seymour, suggestively, "that some have escaped, even when all were believed to have perished."

"Oh, if it were only true !" aspirated Willson, clasping her withered hands together, while her face assumed an expression of mingled ecstasy and incredulity.

"Yes, if it were only true," echoed Mr. Seymour, in an apparently musing tone," all our difficulties would be happily over. Instead of this heart-breaking suspense, these perpetual wanderings, and oft-recurring annoyances, these constantly reiterated inquiries, and never-ending discussion upon the same painful theme, we should feel ourselves once more free, and be able to

66

Forgive me for interrupting you, sir," said Willson, looking at him with the greatest apprehension; "but do not, I beg of you, allow your thoughts to dwell upon what is never likely to be realized. It would only be adding tenfold to your present misery, were you to encourage hopes which afterwards turned out to be fallacious."

"But, Willson," replied Mr. Seymour, in a low tone, "what if I had seen him, and could, therefore, myself bear testimony to his being alive?"

"Seen him!" cried Willson, almost wildly;

66 am I dreaming? Did you say you had seen him?" she asked, in accents of amazed perplexity.

"Yes," answered the happy father, gazing down upon her with glistening eyes; "thank God, my poor ill-used boy still lives; and more than that," dropping his voice to a whisper, "he has forgiven

me."

"Then

may say with Simeon, Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, '" murmured the venerable woman; 66 let me once witness the joyful meeting, and my work on earth will be accomplished-there will be no further need for me here."

"You must not talk like this, my old friend," returned Mr. Seymour, with emotion. "We can't spare you yet. You should try to live, if for no other reason, to enable me to make up to you in some small measure for—"

"Ah, never speak of that, sir," said Willson, hastily; "my heart would have been harder than flint, if I could see your noble and self

sacrificing efforts to render my beloved mistress happy during these last sad years of anxiety and trouble, and not feel that you had already abundantly atoned for the past. And as regards your conduct towards myself," she added tearfully, "words would fail me, were I to attempt to describe what you have done for me."

And in truth he had treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration.

Ever since that memorable night when she was of such inestimable service to him, he had been always regardful of her slightest wish, and tried in every possible way to render her possition endurable, and spare her from anything in the shape of exertion or fatigue.

There were, of course, certain annoyances and painful inconveniences arising from the peculiar state of Mrs. Seymour's mind, and the tenacity with which she insisted on appropriating the society of her favourite old nurse, from which not all Mr. Seymour's vigilance could save her; nevertheless, he contrived to shield her from much that was trying and disagreeable, and took upon himself many unpleasant and thankless tasks, which must otherwise have devolved upon her.

Wherever they went, his first care (after seeing to his wife's comfort) was for Willson. He ordered a private sitting-room to be prepared for her at every stage of their journey, so that she might, if she felt so disposed, indulge her love for quiet, and escape occasionally from the restraints of her mistress's presence; and in their suite were numbered, not only their own personal attendants (including his own valet and Mrs. Seymour's maid), but a trustworthy servant whom Mr. Seymour had engaged before leaving England, for the express purpose of devoting herself exclusively to the aged woman's requirements, and whom he had repeatedly charged to see that no trouble was spared, no expenditure withheld, in supplying her with anything and everything which could add in the smallest degree to her temporal comforts.

But to return. After a short pause, during which Willson's lips moved, though her voice uttered no sound, she managed to ask, in a half-articulate whisper,

"Where is he, sir?"

"Will you promise me to keep calm if I tell you?"

"I'll do my best, sir," was the meekly spoken answer, though a faint flash in her mild grey eyes told that it would not be easy.

"Well, he is here," said Mr. Seymour, lowering his voice, and pointing to a door at the opposite extremity of the apartment, "in that room.

"Oh!" and without waiting for more, she had sprung from her seat, and was half-way across the floor.

"Wait a moment," said Mr. Seymour, intercepting her just as she was about to lay hold of the handle of the door, "and I will bring him to you. He is not alone," he added, in an explanatory tone; "Sir Edward Stanley and another gentleman are with him."

Hearing this, Willson stepped back; and Mr. Seymour having opened the door and silently beckoned to Herbert to join them, returned immediately to her side, saying, remindingly,—

"Now there must be no excited exclamations, or Mrs. Seymour may hear."

Willson answered not. She was standing with clasped hands and