me to make one of our party."

"In this lady you see the daughter of the late Captain----, and the relict
of the son of our ancient Commander, Rear-Admiral de Lacey," hastily
resumed the divine, as though he knew the well-meaning honesty of his
friend was more to be trusted than his discretion.

"I knew them both; and brave men and thorough seamen were the pair! The
lady was welcome as your friend, Merton; but she is doubly so, as the
widow and child of the gentlemen you name."

"De Lacey!" murmured an agitated voice in the ear of the governess.

"The law gives me a title to bear that name," returned she whom we shall
still continue to call by her assumed appellation, folding her weeping
pupil long and affectionately to her bosom. "The veil is unexpectedly
withdrawn, my love, nor shall concealment be longer affected. My father
was the Captain of the flag-ship. Necessity compelled him to leave me more
in the society of your young relative than he would have done, could he
have foreseen the consequences. But I knew both his pride and his poverty
too well, to dare to make him arbiter of my fate, after the alternative
became, to my inexperienced imagination worse than even his anger. We were
privately united by this gentleman, and neither of our parents knew of the
connexion. Death"--

The voice of the widow became choaked, and she made a sign to the
chaplain, as if she would have him continue the tale.

"Mr de Lacey and his father-in-law fell in the same battle, within a short
month of the ceremony," add ed the subdued voice of Merton. "Even you,
dearest Madam, never knew the melancholy particulars of their end. I was a
solitary witness of their deaths for to me were they both consigned, amid
the confusion of the battle. Their blood was mingled; and your parent, in
blessing the young hero, unconsciously blessed his son."

"Oh! I deceived his noble nature, and dearly have I paid the penalty!"
exclaimed the self-abased widow. "Tell me, Merton, did he ever know of my
marriage?"

"He did not. Mr de Lacey died first, and upon his bosom, for he loved him
ever as a child; but other thoughts than useless explanations were then
uppermost in their minds."

"Gertrude," said the governess, in hollow, repentant tones, "there is no
peace for our feeble sex but in submission; no happiness but in
obedience."

"It is over now," whispered the weeping girl; "all over, and forgotten. I
am your child--your own Gertrude--the creature