"After all the injury I have done you, you are yet willing to trust me?"

"Who am I that I should condemn you? Yes, I will trust you, and forgive you."

"I never expected to hear such words," said Peg, her heart softened, and her arid eyes moistened by unwonted emotion; "least of all from you. I should like to ask one thing."

"What is it?"

"Will you let her come and see me sometimes?" pointing to Ida as she spoke. "It will remind me that this is not all a dream--these words which you have spoken."

"She shall come," said Mrs. Clifton, "and I will come too, sometimes."

"Thank you."

They left the prison behind them, and returned home.

There was a visitor awaiting them.

"Mr. Somerville is in the drawing room," said the servant. "He said he would wait till you came in."

Mrs. Clifton's face flushed.

"I will go down and see him," she said. "Ida, you will remain here."

She descended to the drawing room, and met the man who had injured her.

He had come with the resolve to stake his all upon one desperate cast.

His fortunes were desperate. But he had one hope left. Through the mother's love for the daughter, whom she had mourned so long, whom as he believed he had it in his power to restore to her, he hoped to obtain her consent to a marriage which would retrieve his fortunes and gratify his ambition.

Mrs. Clifton entered the room, and seated herself quietly. She bowed slightly, but did not, as usual, offer her hand. But, full of his own plans, Mr. Somerville took no note of this change in her manner.

"How long is it since Ida was lost?" inquired Somerville, abruptly.

Mrs. Clifton heard this question in surprise. Why was it that he had alluded to this subject?

"Seven years," she answered.

"And you believe she yet lives?"

"Yes, I am certain of it."

John Somerville did not understand her. He thought it was only because a mother is reluctant to give up hope.

"It is a long time," he said.

"It is--a long time to suffer," said Mrs. Clifton, with deep meaning.

"How could anyone have the heart to work me this great injury? For seven years I have led a sad and solitary life--seven years that might have been gladdened and cheered by my darling's presence!"

There was something in her tone that puzzled John Somerville, but he was far enough from suspecting that she knew the truth, and at last knew him too.

"Rosa," he said, after a pause, "I, too, believe that Ida still lives.

Do you love her well enough to make a sacrifice for the sake of recovering her?"

"What sacrifice?" she asked, fixing her eye upon him.

"A sacrifice of your feelings."

"Explain. You speak in enigmas."

"Listen, then. I have already told you that I, too, believe Ida to be living. Indeed, I have lately come upon a clew which I think will lead me to her. Withdraw the opposition you have twice made to my suit, promise me that you will reward my affection by your hand if I succeed, and I will devote myself to the search for Ida, resting not day or night till I have placed her in your arms. This I am ready to do. If I succeed, may I claim my reward?"

"What reason have you for thinking you would be able to find her?" asked Mrs. Clifton, with the same inexplicable manner.

"The clew that I spoke of."

"And are you not generous enough to exert yourself without demanding of me this sacrifice?"

"No, Rosa," he answered, firmly, "I am not unselfish enough. I have long loved you. You may not love me; but I am sure I can make you happy. I am forced to show myself selfish, since it is the only way in which I can win you."

"But consider a moment. Put it on a different ground. If you restore me my child now, will not even that be a poor atonement for the wrong you did me seven years since"--she spoke rapidly now--"for the grief, and loneliness, and sorrow which your wickedness and cruelty have wrought?"

"I do not understand you," he said, faltering.

"It is sufficient explanation, Mr. Somerville, to say I have seen the woman who is now in prison--your paid agent--and that I need no a.s.sistance to recover Ida. She is in my house."

"Confusion!"

He uttered only this word, and, rising, left the presence of the woman whom he had so long deceived and injured.

His grand scheme had failed.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

JACK'S RETURN

It is quite time to return to New York, from which Ida was carried but three short weeks before.

"I am beginning to feel anxious about Jack," said Mrs. Harding. "It's more than a week since we heard from him. I'm afraid he's got into some trouble."

"Probably he's too busy to write," said the cooper, wishing to relieve his wife's anxiety, though he, too, was not without anxiety.

"I told you so," said Rachel, in one of her usual fits of depression.

"I told you Jack wasn't fit to be sent on such an errand. If you'd only taken my advice you wouldn't have had so much worry and trouble about him now. Most likely he's got into the House of Reformation, or somewhere. I knew a young man once who went away from home, and never came back again. n.o.body ever knew what became of him till his body was found in the river half eaten by fishes."

"How can you talk so, Rachel?" said Mrs. Harding, "and about your own nephew, too?"

"This is a world of trial and disappointment," said Rachel, "and we might as well expect the worst, for it's sure to come."