my heart spoke out and betrayed my secret.
And now you know all--my follies, misfortunes, sufferings, and sins!

"Can you love me, Gertrude? It is all I ask. I seek not to steal you
from your present home--to rob poor Emily of a child whom she values
perhaps as much as I. The only balm my wounded spirit seeks is the
simple, guileless confession that you will at least try to love your
father.

"I have no hope in this world, and none, alas! beyond, but in yourself.
Could you feel my heart now beating against its prison bars, you would
realize, as I do, that unless soothed it will burst ere long. Will you
soothe it by your pity, my sweet, my darling child? Will you bless it by
your love? If so, come, clasp your arms around me, and whisper to me
words of peace. Within sight of your window, in the old summer-house at
the end of the garden, with straining ear, I wait listening for your
footsteps."

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE REUNION.

As Gertrude's eyes, after greedily devouring the manuscript, fell upon
its closing words she sprang to her feet, and the next instant she has
run down the staircase, run out of the hall door, and approached the
summer-house from the opposite entrance to that at which Mr. Amory, with
folded arms and a fixed countenance, is watching for her coming.

So noiseless is her light step, that before he is conscious of her
presence, she has thrown herself upon his bosom and, her whole frame
trembling with the vehemence of long-suppressed agitation, burst into a
torrent of passionate tears, interrupted only by frequent sobs, so deep
and so exhausting that her father, with his arms folded around her, and
clasping her so closely to his heart that she feels its irregular
beating, endeavours to still the tempest of her grief, whispering
softly, as to an infant, "Hush! hush, my child! you frighten me!"

And, gradually soothed by his gentle caresses, her excitement subsides,
and she is able to lift her face to his and smile upon him through her
tears. They stand thus for many minutes in a silence that speaks far
more than words. Wrapped in the folds of his heavy cloak to preserve her
from the evening air, and still encircled in his strong embrace,
Gertrude feels that their union of spirit is not less complete; while
the long-banished man, who for years has never felt the sweet influence
of a kindly smile, glows with a melting tenderness which hardening
solitude has not the power to subdue. At length Mr.