The moment he saw her, Morrison's feelings were not, indeed, changed, because it was with those very feelings that he had to struggle, in doing what he believed to be a duty to himself--but all those feeling revived in full force, at the sight of her he loved so much, and he advanced at once immediately toward her, for no eloquence that Charles Tyrrell could have used at that moment, would have been half so efficacious in pleading the cause of Hannah Longly, as the young lawyer's own heart. He held out his hand to her, and Hannah, with many a deep blush, put hers in his. "What is this mistake, Hannah," he said, "which has deceived both your father and me, and made me very unhappy?" "My father is undeceived now," said Hannah, "and so would you, too, if you had listened to me." Hannah Longly seemed to feel that she had regained her power, and perhaps, there was a little inclination in her heart to use it, in order to punish her lover, even for doubting her. But her heart had been chastened by adversity; and though she might have triumphed a little in former days, under such circumstances, she now checked even the inclination to do so, and determined to be happy herself, in the reconciliation which she was sure would take place, and to make him so, too, as far as she could. Morrison, however, felt that he was in some degree, put upon his trial, and of course, began his defence. "I was told, Hannah," he said, "and told even by your father, that you had gone out secretly and alone, to meet one of the most profligate and worthless of men, a man who degraded the character of an officer in the navy, to become a spy as well as an informer, to betray the very person of whose hospitality he partook, and whom you well knew, at the time you saw him, dared not set his foot within your father's doors--that you went out to meet him, I say."