ife could not be long forgetful of his darling--nor
his anxiety on her account. The expression in his varying face changed
suddenly. Not half an hour before, Lionel Haughton was the last man in
the world to whom willingly he would have consigned his grandchild. Now,
of all men in the world Lionel Haughton would have been his choice. He
sighed heavily; he comprehended, by his own changed feelings, how tender
and profound an affection Lionel Haughton might inspire in a heart so
fresh as Sophy's, and so tenacious of the impressions it received.
But they were separated forever; she ought not even again to see him.
Uneasily Waife glanced towards the open window--rose involuntarily,
closed it, and drew down the blind.

"You must go now, young gentleman," said he, almost churlishly.

The quick lover's sense in Lionel divined why the blind Avas drawn, and
the dismissal so abruptly given.

"Give me your address," said Waife; "I will write about--that paper.
Don't now stay longer--pray--pray."

"Do not fear, sir. I am not lingering here with the wish to see--her!"

Waife looked down.

"Before I asked the servant to announce me I took the precaution to
learn that you were alone. But a few words more--hear them patiently.
Have you any proof that should satisfy Mr. Darrell's reason that your
Sophy is his daughter's child?"

"I have Jasper's assurance that she is; and the copy of the nurse's
attestation to the same effect. They satisfied me. I would not have
asked Mr. Darrell to be as easily contented; I could but have asked him
to inquire, and satisfy himself. But he would not even hear me."

"He will hear you now, and with respect."

"He will!" cried Waife, joyously. "And if he should inquire and if Sophy
should prove to be, as I have ever believed, his daughter's child, would
he not' own, and receive, and cherish her?"

"Alas, sir, do not let me pain you; but that is not my hope. If, indeed,
it should prove that your son deceived you--that Sophy is no way
related to him--if she should be the child of peasants, but of honest
peasants--why, sir, that is my hope, my last hope--for then I would
kneel once more at your feet, and implore your permission to win her
affection and ask her hand."

"What! Mr. Darrell would consent to your union with the child of
peasants, and not with his own grandchild?"

"Sir, sir, you rack me to the heart; but if you knew all, you would not
wonder to hear me say, 'I dare not ask Mr. Darrell