"My name shocks you--no wonder," said Lionel, deeply mortified, and bowing down his head as he gently dropped the old man's hand.

"Reproaches to myself!--Ah, sir, I am here as Charles Haughton's son!"

"What!" exclaimed Waife, "you know? How could you know that Charles Haughton--"

LIONEL (interrupting).--"I know. His own lips confessed his shame to have so injured you."

WAIFE.--"Confessed to whom?"

LIONEL.--"To Alban Morley. Relieve me, my father's remorse was bitter; it dies not in his grave, it lives in me. I have so longed to meet with William Losely."

Waife seated himself in silence, shading his face with one hand while with the other he made a slight gesture, as if to discourage or rebuke farther allusion to ancient wrong. Lionel, in quick accents, but more connected meaning, went on--

"I have just come from Mr. Darrell, where I and Colonel Morley (here Lionel's countenance was darkly troubled) have been staying some days.

Two days ago I received this letter from George Morley, forwarded to me from London. It says--let me read it: 'You will rejoice to learn that our dear Waife'--pardon that name."

"I have no other--go on."

"'Is once more with his grandchild.'" (Here Lionel sighed heavily--sigh like Sophy's.) "'You will rejoice yet more to learn that it has pleased Heaven to allow me and another witness, who, some years ago, had been misled into condemning Waife, to be enabled to bear incontrovertible testimony to the complete innocence of my beloved friend; nay, more--I say to you most solemnly, that in all which appeared to attest guilt, there has been a virtue, which, if known to Mr. Darrell, would make him bow in reverence to that old man. Tell Mr. Darrell so from me; and add, that in saying it, I express my conviction of his own admiring sympathy--for all that is n.o.ble and heroic.'"

"Too much-this is too, too much," stammered out Waife, restlessly turning away; "but--but, you are folding up the letter. That is all?--he does not say more? he does not mention any one else?--eh?--eh?"

"No, sir; that is all."

"Thank Heaven! He is an honourable man! Yet he has said more than he ought--much more than he can prove, or than I--" he broke off, and abruptly asked--"How did Mr. Darrell take these a.s.sertions? With an incredulous laugh--eh?--'Why, the old rogue had pleaded guilty!'"

"Sir, Alban Morley was there to speak of the William Losely whom he had known; to explain, from facts which he had collected at the time, of what nature was the evidence not brought forward. The motive that induced you to plead guilty I had long guessed; it flashed in an instant on Guy Darrell; it was not mere guess with him! You ask me what he said? This: 'Grand nature! George is right! and I do bow my head in reverence!'"

"He said that?--Guy Darrell? On your honour, he said that?"

"Can you doubt it? Is he not a gentleman?" Waife was fairly overcome.

"But, sir," resumed Lionel, "I must not conceal from you, that though George's letter and Alban Morley's communications sufficed to satisfy Darrell, without further question, your old friend was naturally anxious to learn a more full account, in the hope of legally substantiating your innocence. He therefore despatched by the telegraph a request to his nephew to come at once to Fawley. George arrived there yesterday. Do not blame him, sir, that we share his secret."

"You do? Good heavens! And that lawyer will be barbarous enough to--but no--he has an interest in not accusing of midnight robbery his daughter's husband; Jasper's secret is safe with him. And Colonel Morley--surely his cruel nephew will not suffer him to make me--me, with one foot in the grave--a witness against my Lizzy's son!"

"Colonel Morley, at Darrell's suggestion, came with me to London; and if he does not accompany me to you, it is because he is even now busied in finding out your son, not to undo, but to complete the purpose of your self-sacrifice. 'All other considerations,' said Guy Darrell, 'must be merged in this one thought--that such a father shall not have been in vain a martyr.' Colonel Morley is empowered to treat with your son on any terms; but on this condition, that the rest of his life shall inflict no farther pain, no farther fear on you. This is the sole use to which, without your consent, we have presumed to put the secret we have learned. Do you pardon George now?"

Waife's lips murmured inaudibly, but his face grew very bright; and as it was raised upwards, Lionel's ear caught the whisper of a name--it was not Jasper, it was "Lizzy."

"Ah! why," said Lionel, sadly, and after a short pause, "why was I not permitted to be the one to attest your innocence--to clear your name?

I, who owed to you so vast an hereditary debt! And now--dear, dear Mr.

Losely--"

"Hush! Waife!--call me Waife still!--and always."

"Willingly! It is the name by which I have accustomed myself to love you. Now, listen to me. I am dishonoured until at least the mere pecuniary debt, due to you from my father, is paid. Hist! Hist!--Alban Morley says so--Darrell says so. Darrell says, 'he cannot own me as kinsman till that debt is cancelled.' Darrell lends me the means to do it; he would share his kinsman's ignominy if he did not. Before I could venture even to come hither, the sum due to you from my father was repaid. I hastened to town yesterday evening--saw Mr. Darrell's lawyer.

I have taken a great liberty--I have invested this sum already in the purchase of an annuity for you. Mr. Darrell's lawyer had a client who was in immediate want of the sum due to you; and, not wishing permanently to burthen his estate by mortgage, would give a larger interest by way of annuity than the public offices would; excellent landed security. The lawyer said it would be a pity to let the opportunity slip, so I ventured to act for you. It was all settled this morning. The particulars are on this paper, which I will leave with you.

Of course the sum due to you is not exactly the same as that which my father borrowed before I was born. There is the interest--compound interest; nothing more. I don't understand such matters; Darrell's lawyer made the calculation--it must be right."

Waife had taken the paper, glanced at its contents, dropped it in confusion, amaze. Those hundreds lent, swelled into all those thousands returned! And all methodically computed--tersely--arithmetically-down to fractions. So that every farthing seemed, and indeed was, his lawful due. And that sum invested in an annuity of L500 a year--income which, to poor Gentleman Waife, seemed a prince's revenue!

"It is quite a business-like computation, I tell you, sir; all done by a lawyer. It is indeed," cried Lionel, dismayed at Waife's look and gesture. "Compound interest will run up to what seems a large amount at first; every child knows that. You can't deny c.o.c.ker and calculating tables, and that sort of thing. William Losely, you cannot leave an eternal load of disgrace on the head of Charles Haughton's son."

"Poor Charlie Haughton," murmured Waife. "And I was feeling bitter against his memory--bitter against his son. How Heaven loves to teach us the injustice that dwells in anger! But--but--this cannot be. I thank Mr. Darrell humbly--I cannot take his money."

"It is not his money--it is mine; he only advances it to me. It costs him really nothing, for he deducts the L500 a year from the allowance he makes me. And I don't want such an absurd allowance as I had before going out of the Guards into the line--I mean to be a soldier in good earnest. Too much pocket-money spoils a soldier--only gets one into sc.r.a.pes. Alban Morley says the same. Darrell, too, says, 'Right; no gold could buy a luxury--like the payment of a father's debt!' You cannot grudge me that luxury--you dare not--why? because you are an honest Man."

"Softly, softly, softly," said Waife. "Let me look at you. Don't talk of money now--don't let us think of money! What a look of your father!

'Tis he, 'tis he whom I see before me. Charlie's sweet bright playful eyes--that might have turned aside from the path of duty--a sheriff's officer! Ah! and Charlie's happy laugh, too, at the slightest joke! But THIS is not Charlie's--it is all your own (touching, with gentle finger, Lionel's broad truthful brow). Poor Charlie, he was grieved--you are right--I remember."

"Sir," said Lionel, who was now on one knee by Waife's chair--"sir, I have never yet asked man for his blessing--not even Guy Darrell. Will you put your hand on my head? and oh! that in the mystic world beyond us, some angel may tell Charles Haughton that William Losely has blessed his son!"

Solemnly, but with profound humility--one hand on the Bible beside him, one on the young soldier's bended head--William Losely blessed Charles Haughton's son--and; having done so, involuntarily his arms opened, and blessing was followed by embrace.

CHAPTER III.

NOTHING SO OBSTINATE AS A YOUNG MAN'S HOPE; NOTHING SO ELOQUENT AS A LOVER'S TONGUE.

Hitherto there had been no reference to Sophy. Not Sophy's lover, but Charles Haughton's son had knelt to Waife and received the old man's blessing. But Waife 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 a.s.surance 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?"