"Came to me--the child having no other relative," said Flint, rallying. The lawyer was silent for a moment. "Now, Mr. Flint, suppose I should tell you that your brother's child is still living, what would you say?" "I should say, sir," cried the startled merchant, springing to his feet, "I should say, sir, that it was a lie! I see through it all. This is a miserable conspiracy to force money from me. Your plot, sir, is transparent, and I see that snaky individual crawling at the bottom of it." He pointed at Mortimer. "But it won't do!" he thundered, "it _won't_ do!" "Of course it won't for you to get in a passion. The man who gets into a passion," continued Mr. Burbank, philosophically, "never acts with judgment. And what is the use, Mr. Flint? I am acquainted with all the circumstances of the child's disappearance; indeed, I have a full account of them in your own handwriting." Mr. Flint turned white. "This letter, which I shall give you by and by," said the man of law, "divulges a plot of villainy which heaven happily thought fit to prostrate; and I'll prove the truth of what I say." And the lawyer motioned for Daisy to approach him. She did so, mechanically. "This lady," said Mr. Burbank, smiling blandly, "is my first witness. Will you raise your veil?" Daisy complied with the request, and looked Mr. Flint in the face. Flint turned his eyes on her with such earnestness that she shrunk back. Then he staggered to a chair, and exclaimed involuntarily: "So help me God, it is Henry's child!" Edward Walters rested his hands on the desk, and looked over the baize screen. Mortimer stepped to Daisy's side. "This necklace," he said, in a trembling voice, "I return to the owner. It was my misfortune to take it by mistake, and it is happiness to return it to one who does not require any proof of my innocence." Daisy pressed his hand. "Let me go!" exclaimed Mr. Flint. "Presently, Mr. Flint. You must first witness the _denouement_ of our little drama." With this the lawyer turned to Mortimer, and handed him a paper. "What this fails to explain relative to your father, you must seek from his own lips." "My father!--his lips!"--repeated Mortimer, bewildered. He opened the paper. "My father! where is he?" "Mortimer!" cried Walters, pushing aside the screen. And they stood face to face. XVI. _Our revels now are ended: these our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind!_ SHAKESPEARE. XVI. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE SEA.