“Rowland,” she said, in a faint voice, “I have not many minutes to live.  Where is Father Spencer?  I must have absolution.  I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind.”

Sir Rowland’s brow darkened.

“I have sent for him,” Aliva, he answered; “he will be here directly, with your medical advisers.”

“They are useless,” she returned.  “Medicine cannot save mo now.”

“Dear sister——­”

“I should die happy, if I could behold my child.”

“Comfort yourself, then, Aliva.  You shall behold him.”

“You are mocking me, Rowland.  Jests are not for seasons like this.”

“I am not, by Heaven,” returned the knight, solemnly.  “Leave us, Mrs. Norris, and do not return till Father Spencer arrives.”

“Your ladyship——­” hesitated Norris.

“Go!” said Lady Trafford; “it is my last request.”

And her faithful attendant, drowned in tears, withdrew, followed by the two assistants.

Jonathan stepped behind a curtain.

“Rowland,” said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, “you have assured me that I shall behold my son.  Where is he?”

“Within this room,” replied the knight.

“Here!” shrieked Lady Trafford.

“Here,” repeated her brother.  “But calm yourself, dear sister, or the interview will be too much for you.”

“I am calm—­quite calm, Rowland,” she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words.  “Then, the story of his death was false.  I knew it.  I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—­an innocent child.  God forgive you!”

“May He, indeed, forgive me!” returned Trenchard, crossing himself devoutly; “but my guilt is not the less heavy, because your child escaped.  This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him.  The infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since brought him up as his own son.”

“Blessings upon him!” cried Lady Trafford, fervently.  “But trifle with mo no longer.  Moments are ages now.  Let me see my child, if he is really here?”

“Behold him!” returned Trenchard, taking Thames (who had been a mute, but deeply-interested, witness of the scene) by the hand, and leading him towards her.

“Ah!” exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength.  “My sight is failing me.  Let me have more light, that I may behold him.  Yes!” she screamed, “these are his father’s features!  It is—­it is my son!”

“Mother!” cried Thames; “are you, indeed, my mother?”

“I am, indeed—­my own sweet boy!” she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast.

“Oh!—­to see you thus!” cried Thames, in an agony of affliction.

“Don’t weep, my love,” replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her.  “I am happy—­quite happy now.”

During this touching interview, a change had come over Sir Rowland, and he half repented of what he had done.