receive Mildred in his arms, and he kissed her pale
cheek, again and again, blessing her in the most fervent and solemn
manner.

"My feelings were not treacherous or unfaithful," he said; "I loved
thee, sweetest, from the first. Sir Gervaise Oakes has my will, made in
thy favour, before we sailed on this last cruise, and every shilling I
leave will be thine. Mr. Atwood, procure that will, and add a codicil
explaining this recent discovery, and confirming the legacy; let not the
last be touched, for it is spontaneous and comes from the heart."

"And, now," answered Mrs. Dutton, "enough has passed for once. The
sick-bed should be more quiet. Give me my child, again:--I cannot yet
consent to part with her for ever."

"Mother! mother!" exclaimed Mildred, throwing herself on Mrs. Dutton's
bosom--"I am yours, and yours only."

"Not so, I fear. Mildred, if all I suspect be true, and this is as
proper a moment as another to place that matter also before your
honoured uncle. Come forward, Sir Wycherly--I have understood you to
say, this minute, in my ear, that you hold the pledge of this wilful
girl to become your wife, should she ever be an orphan. An orphan she
is, and has been since the first hour of her birth."

"No--no--no," murmured Mildred, burying her face still deeper in her
mother's bosom, "not while _you_ live, _can_ I be an orphan. Not
now--another time--this is unseasonable--cruel--nay, it is not what I
said."'

"Take her away, dearest Mrs. Dutton," said Bluewater, tears of joy
forcing themselves from his eyes. "Take her away, lest too much
happiness come upon me at once. My thoughts should be calmer at such a
moment."

Wycherly removed Mildred from her mother's arms, and gently led her from
the room. When in Mrs. Dutton's apartment, he whispered something in the
ear of the agitated girl that caused her to turn on him a look of
happiness, though it came dimmed with tears; then _he_ had his turn of
holding her, for another precious instant, to his heart.

"My dear Mrs. Dutton--nay, my dear _mother_," he said, "Mildred and
myself have both need of parents. I am an orphan like herself, and we
can never consent to part with you. Look forward, I entreat you, to
making one of our family in all things, for never can either Mildred or
myself cease to consider you as any thing but a parent entitled to more
than common reverence and affection."

Wycherly had hardly uttered this proper speech, when he received what