even for her I could not have spoken thus, but I gazed on my child, and remembered she too has a mother, whose happiness is centred in her as mine is in my Agnes, and I could hesitate no more.  Promise me you will not abuse my confidence, Mr. Hamilton, promise me; let me not have the misery of reproaches from him to whom my fond heart still clings, as it did at first.  Yes; though for nine long weary years I have never seen his face nor heard his voice, still he knows not, guesses not how his image dwells within, how faithfully, how fervidly he is still beloved.  Promise me my existence shall not be suspected, that neither he nor any one shall know the secret of my existence.  It is enough for me he lives, is happy.  My child! could I but see her in the station her rank demands,—­but, oh, I would not force her on her father.”

She would still have spoken, still have entreated, but this unwonted emotion had exhausted her feeble strength.  Greatly moved by this extraordinary disclosure, and struck with that deep devotedness, that undying love, Percy solemnly pledged his word to preserve her secret.

“My course will soon be over, my sand run out,” she said, after energetically thanking him for his soothing and relieving words, and in a tone of such sad, resigned hopelessness, that, irritated as he felt towards Alphingham, his eye glistened and his lips quivered.  “And wherefore should I dash down his present enjoyment by standing forward and proclaiming myself his wife?  Why should I expose my secret sorrows, my breaking heart to the inspection of a cold and heartless world, and draw down on my dying moments his wrath, for the poor satisfaction of beholding myself recognised as Viscountess Alphingham?  Would worldly honours supply the place of his affection?  Oh, no, no!  I am better as I am.  The tears of maternal and filial love will hallow my grave; and he, too, when he knows for his sake, to save him a pang, I have suffered my heart to break in uncomplaining silence, oh, he too may shed one tear, bestow a thought on one who loved him to the last!”

“But your child!” exclaimed Percy, almost involuntarily.

“Will be happier here, under my mother’s care, unconscious of her birth, than mingling in a dangerous world, without a mother to cherish and protect her.  Her father might neglect, despise her; she might be a bar to a second and a happier union, and oh, I could not die in peace did I expose her thus.”

Percy was silent, and when the interview had closed, he bade that devoted woman farewell, with a saddened and deeply thoughtful brow.