he threw
himself into her withered and aged arms, "it is I, the child you reared,
come, after many years, to find too late, when a father is no more, that
he had a right to a father's home."

CHAPTER LXXI.

Let us go in,
And charge us there upon inter'gatories.--SHAKSPEARE.

"But did not any one recognize you in your change of name?" said the old
foster-mother, looking fondly upon Clarence, as he sat the next morning
by her side. "How could any one forget so winsome a face who had once
seen it?"

"You don't remember," said Clarence (as we will yet continue to call our
hero), smiling, "that your husband had forgotten it."

"Ay, sir," cried the piqued steward, "but that was because you wore your
hat slouched over your eyes: if you had taken off that, I should have
known you directly."

"However that may be," said Clarence, unwilling to dwell longer on an
occurrence which he saw hurt the feelings of the kind Mr. Wardour, "it
is very easy to explain how I preserved my incognito. You recollect that
my father never suffered me to mix with my mother's guests: so that I
had no chance of their remembering me, especially as during the last
three years and a half no stranger had ever entered our walls. Add to
this that I was in the very time of life in which a few years work the
greatest change, and on going to London I was thrown entirely among
people who could never have seen me before. Fortunately for me, I became
acquainted with my mother's uncle; circumstances subsequently led me to
disclose my birth to him, upon a promise that he would never call me by
any other name than that which I had assumed. He, who was the best,
the kindest, the most generous of human beings, took a liking to me. He
insisted not only upon his relationship to me, as my grand-uncle, but
upon the justice of repairing to me the wrongs his unhappy niece had
caused me. The delicacy of his kindness, the ties of blood, and
an accident which had enabled me to be of some service to him, all
prevented my resisting the weight of obligation with which he afterwards
oppressed me. He procured me an appointment abroad: I remained there
four years. When I returned, I entered, it is true, into very general
society: but four years had, as you may perceive, altered me greatly;
and even had there previously existed any chance of my being recognized,
that alteration would probably have been sufficient to insure my
secret."

"But your brother,-