and find my uncle.
I don't think she quite knew what she was saying, but I came.'

The tears gathered in Gladys' eyes, and hearing a strange heavy sigh
from Mr Jones, she looked up at him through their mist, and saw that he
was struggling to speak through some great emotion.

'Oh, sir! what is the matter?' said Gladys, rising and going towards him
as he stood, trembling, on the other side of her work-table.

He could not speak, but opening his arms as she approached him, folded
her in them, and kissed her, as she had not been kissed before, since
her poor mother died.

Gladys could only yield to the embrace, she knew not wherefore. She
loved Mr Jones as if he were her own father, he had been almost like a
father to her ever since she had been in his house; she felt as if she
were once more in a father's arms.

We will leave them thus for one moment, to return to the drawing-room.

Mrs Jones, in her turn, kissed Minette, and praised her for repeating
her hymn so well.

'But where is Mr Jones?' asked the child. 'Will he take me to see the
little boys and girls?'

'I think he must be gone to find a book for you, dear,' was the reply.

But as neither Mr Jones nor the book came, Mrs Jones got rather fidgety,
and fancying her husband might be ill, left the room to see what had
become of him. She went to the dining-room, study, and bedroom, and, not
finding him, went to ask Gladys whether she knew where he was. She was
not a little astonished at finding him with Gladys in his arms, and the
door half open at his back.

Mrs Jones was not a jealous wife, but Gladys was a very pretty girl, Mr
Jones was avowedly very fond of her, and Mr Jones was mortal.

She felt a strange pain at her heart, turned pale, and stood for a
moment unobserved by either, on the threshold, irresolute, when she
heard these words from her husband,--

'It must be so. Gladys--you are--you must be--my poor, dear, lost
sister's child!'

Gladys and Mrs Jones uttered a simultaneous cry, and the latter entered
the room.

'My dear William, what does this mean?' she said, approaching her
husband and putting her hand on his shoulder.

'Serena!' (he, too called that gentle woman Serena) 'my love. For my
sake! This is my sister's child--my niece--my--our Gladys!'

Mr Jones released the bewildered Gladys from his embrace, and almost
placed her in the arms of his wife, who, scarcely comprehending what was
passing, kissed her tenderly.

Then Gladys