ld's wrist, the lost son had been discovered; the
nurse herself (found in the person of Martha Skeggs, Lucretia's own
servant) had been confronted with the woman to whom she gave the child,
and recognized at once. Nor had it been difficult to obtain from her the
confession which completed the evidence.

"In this discovery," concluded Ardworth, "the person I employed met your
own agent, and the last links in the chain they traced together. But to
that person--to his zeal and intelligence--you owe the happiness I
trust to give you. He sympathized with me the more that he knew you
personally, felt for your sorrows, and had a lingering belief that you
supposed him to be the child you yearned for. Madame, thank my son for
the restoration of your own!"

Without sound, Lucretia had listened to these details, though her
countenance changed fearfully as the narrator proceeded. But now she
groaned aloud and in agony.

"Nay, Madame," said Ardworth, feelingly, and in some surprise, "surely
the discovery of your son should create gladder emotions! Though,
indeed, you will be prepared to find that the poor youth so reared wants
education and refinement, I have heard enough to convince me that his
dispositions are good and his heart grateful. Judge of this yourself; he
is in these walls, he is--"

"Abandoned by a harlot,--reared by a beggar! My son!" interrupted
Lucretia, in broken sentences. "Well, sir, have you discharged your
task! Well have you replaced a mother!" Before Ardworth could reply,
loud and rapid steps were heard in the corridor, and a voice, cracked,
indistinct, but vehement. The door was thrown open, and, half-supported
by Captain Greville, half dragging him along, his features convulsed,
whether by pain or passion, the spy upon Lucretia's secrets, the
denouncer of her crime, tottered to the threshold. Pointing to where she
sat with his long, lean arm, Beck exclaimed, "Seize her! I 'cuse her,
face to face, of the murder of her niece,--of--of I told you, sir--I
told you--"

"Madame," said Captain Greville, "you stand charged by this witness
with the most terrible of human crimes. I judge you not. Your niece,
I rejoice to bear, yet lives. Pray God that her death be not traced
to those kindred hands!" Turning her eyes from one to the other with a
wandering stare, Lucretia Dalibard remained silent. But there was still
scorn on her lip, and defiance on her brow. At last she said slowly, and
to Ardworth,--

"Where i