“But this old lady, it appears, had a son, the child of a previous marriage,—­for she has buried two husbands,—­who, some five years ago, sailed on some distant voyage, I do not exactly know what his destination.  However, no tidings were ever received of the vessel having reached the desired port, and, of course, Mrs. Cartwright, who Ella told me was exceedingly attached to him, mourned him bitterly as one dead.  But instead of being lost at sea, he had been picked up, the only survivor of the shipwrecked vessel, by Moorish pirates, who, taking him into their country, sold him as a slave.

“He managed to make his escape somehow, about six months ago, though he had a terrible time of it; but he succeeded getting on board an English vessel, which was just about leaving for America.”

“But how did he come to meet with Miss Wiltshire?”

“Why the vessel put into the place where Agnes was conveyed by the Captain of the fishing schooner, who went to her rescue, and, of course, Agnes gladly availed herself of the opportunity to return home, and this accounts, in part, for their intimacy.”

“And how did Mr. Clifford meet with his mother?  Surely he did not expect to find her here?”

“No; it was a very singular coincidence.  Mr. Bernard happened to be at Mr. Denham’s when Agnes, accompanied by Mr. Clifford, arrived there; and in the course of subsequent conversation with him, Mr. Bernard ascertained that he was the son of the very lady who was then a guest at his dwelling, and, of course, insisted that he, also, should be a partaker of his hospitality.”

“What a strange circumstance,” loudly ejaculated the attentive listener, “and how delighted the old lady must have been.  You know I was out of town at the time, and never heard the rights of the matter.”

“Yes, I remember, and the old lady, as you say, was indeed delighted, so much so, that at first she was completely overcome.  She took immediately to her bed, from which she has not been able to rise, till within the last few weeks.”

“Ah, so that is the reason they have resided so long at Mr. Bernard’s.”

“That is one reason, but I strongly suspect there is another and greater,” was the reply, as the younger lady, observing that Mr. Bernard had approached, and stood by a table near examining some very exquisitely carved ornaments, thought it a good opportunity to give him, without pretending to notice his proximity, some little information,—­information which might hereafter aid in accomplishing her own well-planned schemes.

“You said he had another reason for remaining so long, did you not, Maria?”

“Oh, yes, and one palpable enough to any person who has eyes.  Just look yonder, and you will see for yourself.”

Mr. Bernard involuntarily raised his eyes, and glanced at the spot indicated.  At a side-table, a little apart from the others, Agnes was seated, looking over a large and elegant portfolio, the peculiar beauties of whose admirable engravings, Ernest Clifford seemed eagerly pointing out, as he bent over her chair; his handsome countenance lit up with a smile of pleasurable emotion.