econciled to him,
and who is waiting below, eager to shake his hand, and embrace Clive's
wife."

"Who is that?" says the Colonel, looking gently up, as he pats Boy's
head.

"Who is it, Pen?" says Clive. I said in a low voice, "Ethel;" and
starting up and crying "Ethel! Ethel!" he ran from the room.

Little Mrs. Rosa started up too on her sofa, clutching hold of the
table-cover with her lean hand, and the two red spots on her cheeks
burning more fiercely than ever. I could see what passion was beating in
that poor little heart. "Heaven help us! what a resting-place had friends
and parents prepared for it! for shame!"

"Miss Newcome, is it? My darling Rosa, get on your shawl!" cried the
Campaigner, a grim smile lighting her face.

"It is Ethel; Ethel is my niece. I used to love her when she was quite
a little girl," says the Colonel, patting Boy on the head; "and she is
a very good, beautiful little child--a very good child." The torture
had been too much for that kind old heart: there were times when Thomas
Newcome passed beyond it. What still maddened Clive, excited his father
no more; the pain yonder woman inflicted, only felled and stupefied him.

As the door opened, the little white-headed child trotted forward
towards the visitor, and Ethel entered on Clive's arm, who was as
haggard and pale as death. Little Boy, looking up at the stately lady,
still followed beside her, as she approached her uncle, who remained
sitting, his head bent to the ground. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Indeed he was following the child, and about to caress it again.

"Here is a friend, father!" says Clive, laying a hand on the old man's
shoulder. "It is I, Ethel, uncle!" the young lady said, taking his hand;
and kneeling down between his knees, she flung her arms round him, and
kissed him, and wept on his shoulder.

His consciousness had quite returned ere an instant was over. He
embraced her with the warmth of his old affection, uttering many brief
words of love, kindness, and tenderness, such as men speak when strongly
moved.

The little boy had come wondering up to the chair whilst this embrace
took place, and Clive's tall figure bent over the three. Rosa's eyes
were not good to look at, as she stared at the group with a ghastly
smile. Mrs. Mackenzie surveyed the scene in haughty state, from behind
the sofa cushions. She tried to take one of Rosa's lean hot hands. The
poor child tore it away, leaving her rings behind her; lift