been
punished; and my own sufferings have taught me to feel that I am still
a woman. I loved you once--I hated you long; but now I pity you. Yes,
Thomas Gourlay, she whom you drove to madness, and imposture, and
misery, for long years, can now look down upon you with pity!"

Having thus spoken, she left the room.

We may add here, in a few brief words, that the proof of the identity of
each of the two individuals in question was clearly, legally, and most
satisfactorily established; in addition to which, if farther certainty
had been wanting, Lady Gourlay at once knew her son by a very peculiar
mole on his neck, of a three-cornered shape, resembling a triangle.

The important events of the day, so deeply affecting Sir Thomas Gourlay
and his family, had been now brought to a close; all the strangers
withdrew, and Fenton's body was brought up stairs and laid out. Lady
Emily and her father went home together; so did Roberts, now Sir Edward
Gourlay, and his delighted and thankful mother. Her confidence in the
providence of God was at length amply rewarded, and the widow's heart at
last was indeed made to sing for joy.

"Well, Ned, my boy," said old Sam, turning to Sir Edward, after having
been introduced to his mother, "I hope I haven't lost a son to-day,
although your mother gained one?"

"I would be unworthy of my good fortune, if you did," replied Sir
Edward. "Whilst I have life and sense and memory I shall ever look upon
you as my father, and my best friend."

"Eight," replied the old soldier; "but I knew it was before you. He was
no everyday plant, my lady, and so I told my Beck. Your ladyship must
see my Beck," he added; "she's the queen of wives, and I knew it
from the first day I married her; my heart told me so, and it was all
right--all the heart of man."

The unfortunate old Doctor was to be pitied. He walked about with his
finger in his book, scarcely knowing whether what he had seen and
heard was a dream, or a reality. Seeing Lord Dunroe about to take his
departure, he approached him, and said, "Pray, sir, are we to have no
dejeuner after all? Are not you the young gentleman who was this day
found out--discovered?"

Dunroe was either so completely absorbed in the contemplation of his ill
fortune, that he did not hear him, or he would not deign him an answer.

"This is really too bad," continued the Doctor; "neither a marriage fee
nor a dejeuner! Too bad, indeed! Here are the tribulations, but not the