till all of a sudden she disappeared, none knew whither."

Clarence redoubled his attention.

"At last," resumed the steward, "two years ago, a letter came from her
to my lord; she was a nun in some convent (in Italy I think) to which
she had, at the time of her disappearance, secretly retired. The letter
was written on her death-bed, and so affectingly, I suppose, that even
my stern lord was in tears for several days after he received it. But
the principal passage in it was relative to her son: it assured my lord
(for so with his own lips he told me just before he died, some months
ago) that Master Clinton was in truth his son, and that it was not till
she had been tempted many years after her marriage that she had fallen;
she implored my lord to believe this 'on the word of one for whom earth
and earth's objects were no more;' those were her words."

"Six months ago, when my lord lay on the bed from which he never
rose, he called me to him and said, 'Wardour, you have always been the
faithful servant of our house, and warmly attached to my second son;
tell my poor boy, if ever you see him, that I did at last open my
eyes to my error and acknowledge him as my child; tell him that I have
desired his brother (who was then, sir, kneeling by my lord's side), as
he values my blessing, to seek him out and repair the wrong I have
done him; and add that my best comfort in death was the hope of his
forgiveness.'"

"Did he, did he say that?" exclaimed Clarence, who had been violently
agitated during the latter part of this recital, and now sprang from
his seat. "My father, my father! would that I had borne with thee more!
mine, mine was the fault; from thee should have come the forgiveness!"

The old steward sat silent and aghast. At that instant his wife entered,
with a message of chiding at the lateness of the hour upon her lip, but
she started back when she saw Clarence's profile, as he stood leaning
against the wall.

"Good heavens!" cried she, "is it, is it,--yes, it is my young master,
my own foster-son!"

Rightly had Clarence conjectured, when he had shunned her presence.
Years had indeed wrought a change in his figure and face; acquaintance,
servant, friend, relation,--the remembrance of his features had passed
from all: but she who had nursed him as an infant on her lap and fed
him from her breast, she who had joined the devotion of clanship to the
fondness of a mother, knew him at a glance. "Yes," cried he, as