with
a luxurious sense of comfort. That was a quiet and profound sleep,
notwithstanding the old man had many sins unrepented of.

CHAPTER LXXVII.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

About an hour after General Harrington drove up to his stables, with
such a clash of bells, and stole from it so noiselessly, there came
another sleigh along the high road, the very one which had borne Lina
French to her wretched city home. Noiselessly as it had moved that
stormy night, the sleigh crept toward General Harrington's dwelling. At
the cross of the roads it made a halt, and out from the pile of furs
stepped a female, mantled from head to foot, who set her foot firmly
upon the snow, and, with a wave of her hand, dismissed the sleigh,
which, turning upon its track, glided like a shadow into the darkness
again.

The woman stood still till the sleigh was out of sight; then gathering
the cloak about her, walked rapidly towards the house. As General
Harrington had done, she opened the door with a latch-key, and glided
into the darkened vestibule. Her tread left no sound on the marble, and
she glided on through the darkness like a shadow, meeting no one, and
apparently so well acquainted with the building that light was
unnecessary. At length she paused opposite a door, opened it cautiously,
and entered a dusky chamber, lighted only by a small lamp that was so
shaded that a single gleam of light shot across the floor, leaving the
rest in darkness. A bed stood in this room with a low couch, on which
Agnes Barker was sleeping. The woman took up the lamp, allowing a stream
of light to fall upon her face, at the same moment it revealed that of
the holder, which shone out hard as iron, and with a grey pallor upon
it.

"Is it you?" exclaimed the girl, starting up and putting back the hair
from her face. "Have you found him? Has he returned? Why can't you speak
to me? Where is Ralph Harrington?"

"Agnes!"

"Well," answered the girl, impatiently.

"It is useless pursuing this infatuation longer. The time has come when
you must learn to command yourself. You are my daughter!"

"I don't believe it!" answered the girl, angrily.

"Have you ever known any other parent?"

"I never had any parent!"

"Who placed you at school? who paid for your education?"

"I don't know--your mistress, I dare say, who was ashamed of my birth,
and made you her agent. I have always believed so and believe it yet."

"Agnes, you are my own child. I call on H