le."

"That, sir, is your mistake. Agnes Hedworth was the bride."

A noise in the room interrupted the dialogue, and the three gentlemen
saw Wycherly and Mildred stooping to pick up the fragments of a bowl
that Mrs. Dutton had let fall. The latter, apparently in alarm, at the
little accident, had sunk back into a seat, pale and trembling.

"My dear Mrs. Dutton, take a glass of water," said Sir Gervaise, kindly
approaching her; "your nerves have been sorely tried of late; else would
not such a trifle affect you."

"It is not _that_!" exclaimed the matron, huskily. "It is not _that_!
Oh! the fearful moment has come at last; and, from my inmost spirit I
thank thee, my Lord and my God, that it has come free from shame and
disgrace!"

The closing words were uttered on bended knees, and with uplifted hands.

"Mother!--dearest, dearest mother," cried Mildred, falling on her
mother's neck. "What mean you? What new misery has happened to-day?"

"_Mother!_ Yes, sweet one, thou art, thou ever _shalt_ be my child! This
is the pang I have most dreaded; but what is an unknown tie of blood, to
use, and affection, and to a mother's care? If I did not bear thee,
Mildred, no natural mother could have loved thee more, or would have
died for thee, as willingly!"

"Distress has disturbed her, gentlemen," said Mildred, gently
extricating herself from her mother's arms, and helping her to rise. "A
few moments of rest will restore her."

"No, darling; it must come now--it _ought_ to come now--after what I
have just heard, it would be unpardonable not to tell it, _now_. Did I
understand you to say, sir, that you were present at the marriage of
Agnes Hedworth, and that, too, with the brother of Admiral Bluewater?"

"Of that fact, there can be no question, madam. I and others will
testify to it. The marriage took place in London, in the summer of 1725,
while Blakely and myself were up from Portsmouth, on leave. Colonel
Bluewater asked us both to be present, under a pledge of secresy."

"And in the summer of 1726, Agnes Hedworth died in my house and my arms,
an hour after giving birth to this dear, this precious child--Mildred
Dutton, as she has ever since been called--Mildred Bluewater, as it
would seem her name should be."

It is unnecessary to dwell on the surprise with which all present, or
the delight with which Bluewater and Wycherly heard this extraordinary
announcement. A cry escaped Mildred, who threw herself on Mrs. Dutton's